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czarojay · 4 years ago

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//This is gonna be a long, probably not properly formatted post, but i just couldn’t help but gush about and ramble about this. Also prepare for a wall of text why everyone is the traitor /hj//

I just have so many thoughts on what happened yesterday. Like all the foreshadowings and plotholes and plotlines have been set in motion, completed or filled. And it makes my little writer soul happy, you know?

It was obvious Techno and Wilbur would be the traitors, since Wilbur multiple times said so himself and Techno literally murdered Tubbo in cold blood. Maybe not so much cold blood cause “hE WAS PEER PRESSURED” and stressed af, but you get the point.

We knew Philza would join Dream SMP pretty much, since Wilbur showed him the script on stream recently. Also like Traitor Philza anyone? How many posts have you seen of the ultimate traitor being Philza? I have seen lots, but in the end weren’t like half the people traitors? Niki betrayed Pogtopia subtly by leaving and building another city, but i guess this depends on your point of view and opinion, since in the final battle she did fight for Pogtopia. Wilbur was the traitor (everyone knows that) by blowing up Manburg, when it all seemed to go right. Techno was the traitor to Pogtopia, but was also betrayed by Pogtopia. Techno was here to abolish government not make another, but at the first time, he knew what he was getting into. Tommy spoke about taking back L’Manburg for two months, since the election, so I do not know why the surprise. While I agree with Techno that they were just terrorists, because Schlatt was elected, voted, not a tyrant in full meaning of that word (this is so complicated, i love this). Eret was the traitor to Dream for a change, because he wanted to help and join Pogtopia, but was also betrayed by Dream, who had supposedly no way of knowing Eret was going to betray them, he just took the crown and plopped it down on our cottagecore lesbian George, who either sleeps or builds cute houses.

Also Philza being the one to slay Wilbur is just amazing, because there are so many possibilities motives. Philza said he couldn’t kill Wilbur, but he looked on the people of Manburg, L’Manburg, Pogtopia and Dream SMP, Badlands, he looked at all the people gathered here, staring up at him and he said he couldn’t kill his son. Wilbur said he was the one who destroyed L’Manburg, His L’manburg and ordered Philza to murder him. And he did. But why?

Did Philza kill Wilbur, because he knew, that even with Schlatt gone, Wilbur would continue to cause wars and battles and death and pain? Did Philza kill Wilbur, because he knew that Tommy looks up to Wilbur and wouldn’t be able to not let himself be manipulated? Did Philza kill Wilbur, because he thought nothing else could stop him from becoming a monster? Did Philza kill Wilbur, his son, because he couldn’t bear the thought of not being able to help his son, while one is traumatised, staring at them from where he miraculously survived the explosion and the other one was betrayed, but also a traitor and he just needed to do something? Did Philza kill Wilbur, because he looked at the blown up land and he heard his son begging for death and he at that moment was the only person who could make a change?

Hell if i know, there are too many posssibilities, but what i DO know is that i’m going to meet theories and conspiracies across my tumblr dash for weeks and I will be able to read all your amazing essays and I just can’t wait for it you know?

Chekhov’s gun. We knew L’Manburg would blow up. It would make no sense for it to not blow up after a month of it being the major plot device, one of the few things to keep it going. It needed to happen or otherwise the plot wouldn’t make sense. If this was a book and not minecraft roleplay, I bet everyone would be angry that the Wilbur character didn’t blow up as he said he would through half of the third book of the series! Sure there would be people happy that he didn’t, but let’s all be honest here, all the AUs would feature him blowing it up, it was really the only way for there not to be a massive plothole.

Tubbo becoming a president wasn’t that to be expected before the stream, but during the conversation with Quackity it was hinted towards. We all thought it would be Tommy who’d been hinted towards in the “You’re never going to be a president, Tommy” speech of Wilbur. And to be fair, he was a president for like 1.2 seconds, before he went back to get his discs which as exasperated leave me, because come on you’ve been at these discs for like almost HALF A YEAR WOW, make me happy cause it means more plot to come, chekhov’s gun right? I’m not sure if this applies here though, since they’ve already been used. We’ll wait and see right? Tubbo became a president like he was supposed to become. We all expected him to become the vice president, since Tommy always titled him his right hand man and the parallels were too strong. From Secretary of State through Schlatt’s right hand man through a traitor to end as the President of L’Manburg. Or New L’Manburg should I say?

And it’s even worse when you think about how Wilbur appointed Tommy KNOWING L’Manburg would blow up in a moment. He wanted to give him everything he could ever want and then steal it away the next second, violently, not leaving a shred of hope for it to return. Because, you see, with the discs? Tommy always could fight for them, steal them, get them back. Physical small objects, but worth so much. But L’Manburg? Tommy just got it back, his second home, his people, his place and Wilbur planned to immediately rip it away violently. Tommy would rage, he’d curse, he’d plan revenge. Which is exactly the reason Tubbo is the better choice to be a president.

Tubbo doesn’t hold grudges, so unless he’s manipulated, not many wars will be initiated by him. He was one of the people who tried to fight the wither, he was the one who immediately jumped to gathering people and making plans for the future of their country. He was the one who made plans to rebuild their nation stronger and better. He jumped to making and building and communicating rather than fighting, which seems to me like something a good leader would do.

Wilbur as the president barely did things, mostly used pretty words or fought. Only later in Pogtopia he actually did most of the stuff in their ravine, but he still left grinding and food for Techno and in the end he went insane and no good leader should be an insane one. Schlatt? Schlatt wanted to chop down the trees, kill the animals and destroy the nature. He may have been a better, closer and an actually elected leader compared to Wilbur, but that doesn’t mean he was a good leader. So it is possible Tubbo will be the best leader yet.

But will he even be able to be truly a leader? Tubbo said himself he’s not sure how the whole president thing goes and he agreed to just call it a friend group, so they’re not demolished by Technoblade again, so he’s never going to be truly a leader, especially since Philza joined and everyone looks up to Philza. They’re not going to have a leader, because Techno will kill anyone who even hints towards it and Dream would probably do that as well. Or so he says, but then he made Dream SMP a kingdom, a proper kingdom with a true king. Because let’s agree, Eret was never a leader before. He was just there, sitting pretty in his forest. There was no true kingdom before, just a group of people who decided to play along for the sake of the spy. But even then, it seems pretty hypocrytical of Dream, doesn’t it? He says down with the government, with organized nations, presidents and leaders and yet...

King George has happened. But at what cost, I would say sadly and possibly crying if I didn’t expect it to happen. It was bound to happen since the very first WHITE FLAGS, TOMORROW, OR YOU’RE DEAD. He’s earned no right to the title, he didn’t participate in this war, he hardly does anything on the server. He’s just an heir. Dream forcefully removed the last monarch, so George could become the king and I feel this is going to be a big thing in future, since it wasn’t that focused on during the last streams. I think so at least? We’ll see.

There’s just so many things to cover here, possibilities are WILD, the lore is just SO HEAVY and I am Thriving, capital T. But isn’t the whole fandom? We’re all loving it here, right? And I want to write even more, but at the same time, I’ve already got 1.5 k words and I’m afraid nobody will read it if i continue, SO HAVE A GOOD DAY IF YOU READ SO FAR. SUBSCRIBE TO PHILZA.

#dream smp #Philza #Ph1lza #Technoblade #Tommyinnit #Tubbo #Tommy #Wilbur Soo #Wilbur Soot #Jschlatt #Dream #Georgenotfound #Quackity #mcyt #16th november #november 16 #101 talks #ideas and analysis

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braincoins · 4 years ago

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For some reason, I decided to write up what happens when someone new comes to Ray’s research centre (yes, centre not center; Ray doesn’t care, but Percy and Bram both think the “-er” version looks wrong).

Anyway, it can be a slightly off-putting experience to those new to the centre, and it doesn’t help that there are also academic classes being taught there and new hires coming in and out all the time, too. The reputation of the place on the IOU campus is, “Duuuuude, did you know there’s a whorehouse?! BESIDES Sigma Epsilon Chi?” So walking into a slightly more clinical setting often throws people off.

And while Greek parties are still the best place for casual (and free) hook-ups and the so-called “whorehouse” charges money, the latter doesn’t smell like stale beer and also has cookies.

I dithered a bit on whether to put this on the smut blog, but, honestly? Discussion of the mere existence of sex workers-slash-sex researchers isn’t “smutty.” There’s no actual boinking going on in this.

He walked up to the limestone and marble building. This was definitely the correct address he’d been given. It didn’t look much like a... a house of ill repute though; more like one of the fancier and less-exploded university buildings. He double-checked the address on his comtab with the one on the mailbox. Right address. He shrugged and headed in.

He was in a gorgeously-appointed lobby, as if someone couldn’t decide if they were building a hotel or a doctor’s office and had split the difference. Benches lined the walls to either side of him, made of mahogany and plush with red velvet cushions. There was a desk straight ahead of him, like a hotel concierge. There was a door behind the desk that read OFFICE. An elegant stairway curved up behind it. There were hallways to the left and right. The desk had a hotel desk bell, a young woman with pink skin and white & black hair behind it, and a plate of what looked like chocolate chip cookies on it. He approached uncertainly.

“Um, excuse me...”

The young woman didn’t look up from what she was doing. “Client, student, new employee, applicant?” she asked.

“Uh... I am a student at IOU but...”

She looked up now, and gave him the once-over. “Are you here for a class?”

“No.”

She nodded. “Are you applying for a job or have been recently hired?”

“No.”

She nodded again. “Client then.” She smiled a Polite Customer Service smile and rose from her seat. “I’m assuming this is your first time here.”

“Uh, quite. I was told this was a...”

“Brothel, whorehouse, etc.?” she supplied for him.

He could feel his cheeks heating and he nodded mutely.

She shrugged. “This is the Sex & Sexuality Research Centre,” she told him. “We do take payment in exchange for sexual pleasure, and have a variety of scientists willing to participate in whatever you desire.”

He wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that.

She chuckled. “Don’t worry, first time’s free. Also, there’s cookies,” she indicated the plate, “though we’d like you to wait until after your blood work.”

“Blood work?”

She pulled up a tablet and set it on the desk in front of him. “For your first time here, we need your demographic data: name, date and place of birth, dimensional coordinates if you know them, sex, gender, identification, romantic and sexual orientations, etc. It’s all on the form. Don’t worry, we won’t use identifying data in any of the published research. We’ll take a blood sample and do a few quick scans to make sure you’re healthy. We know it feels like a lot, but that’s why we don’t charge for the first time.

“After that, you can choose a room and a partner from the available list. You should also indicate desired activities, so we can further match you with the best possible researcher. Every room comes fully stocked with various lubricants, contraceptives, and toys, as well as appropriate hydration resources. We can even provide sustenance, within reason.”

He didn’t even know where to begin with all that, so he just repeated, “Within reason?” because he wasn’t sure what would qualify as “unreasonable” in a place like this.

“No feasts without proper advance notification,” she told him. “But we can order you a pizza, make you a burger, that sort of thing. And the professor does make marvelous cookies! If you’d rather have something other than chocolate chip, he can see to it.”

He was quiet a moment, considering. “So... basically...”

She cut him off. “This is functionally a brothel, but the sex workers take notes on what goes on here and it all gets analyzed for research purposes. If you’re willing, we’d love to be able to do audio and/or video recording, but those options are off by default. Normally we just use the researchers’ after-encounter notes.”

He thought about that. “And first time is free?”

She nodded. “Yes. After you fill out the forms, get the scans and blood work. And that’s all done here, in-house.”

“And also there are cookies.”

“Yep! Fresh-baked, homemade, not from a mix. Professor Darknoll takes pride in his work.”

He considered all of that and nodded. “So I get laid, get fed, and I can help science all at the same time?”

She beamed. “Absolutely! And I like your attitude.”

He grinned, finally feeling a bit more sure of himself. “Well sign me up!”

#Braym #IOU #my OCs

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where-dreamers-go · 5 years ago

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“Literature And Conspiracies” Riley Poole x Reader

(A/N: Anon asked: “I’d love a Riley Poole x reader where she’s a professor of literature and Ben and Abigail set them up when he wants to do research for his book” -&

Not entirely sure if this was what you had in mind, but I hope it’s entertaining.

Word Count: 2,864)

“Riley seems a bit stressed lately,” Abigail spoke.

Abigail and Ben were enjoying a dinner at home surrounded by their love of history. History that took over the house from the floor to the ceiling.

“It’s his book he’s planning. Well…writing.” Ben took a sip of his drink. “He knows what he wants to write about, but he needs to find the right sources, set it in a proper format and….I might know someone that can help. I can send her an e-mail.”

“She?” Abigail quirked an eyebrow.

“I met her at the (__) lecture last week. She’s a professor of literature.”

“Oh. Do you think she’d be willing to help Riley? Professors have their own research to do, Ben.”

“I know, I know. Although, she seemed nice….in a friendly normal way.” He gave his thoughts aloud. “Riley shouldn’t be too distracted.”

Abigail rose her eyebrows with a smirk.

. . .

“Awh, come on, Riley. They already answered back and they’d be happy to help you.”

“Ben, you didn’t think to ask me first before you made an appointment at some school?” Riley rolled a pencil across the table between them. Books stacked haphazardly across the surface.

“The thought did occur.”

“Ben. I can find someone or…search online how to format my book. It’s what that professor will probably scold me about when I get there.”

“No. I already said they’re nice.” Ben watched as Riley moved aside another book. “Her name’s (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

Thump

Ben smiled triumphantly.

. . .

You deleted another e-mail as you sat behind your desk. Filling any minute of free time with small tasks was skill you’d acquired through many years in school. Although having your own office was definitely a perk in its own right.

Knock knock

“Come in,” you called and closed out of the Internet browser.

“Hello.”

In walked a brunette man in a dark navy jacket and backpack straps visible over his shoulders.

“Hello,” you stood from your seat and extended your hand. “I’m (Y/N) (Y/L/N). You must be…”

“Riley,” he grasped your hand in a light shake. “Uh. Riley Poole.” He released your hand and shrugged off his backpack before sitting down.

You returned to your seat.

“Nice to meet you, Mister Poole. I understand from your friend’s e-mails that you’re writing your first book.”

“Yeah—yes, I am.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed.

“That’s exciting,” you smiled. “Are there any questions you might have? Regarding research and sources, perhaps?”

“Ye—…a lot actually.”

“Oh, well in that case, let’s start with the subject of your book. That will help move things forward.”

Mister Poole changed his position on the chair more than once. His eyes looking passed you in an attempt to delay the inevitable. Taking a short breath, he returned his blue-eyed gaze to you.

“Government conspiracies and urban legends.”

Your eyebrows rose at his unexpected response.

Conspiracy theories and urban legends were anything but boring to you. Sure, it wasn’t something you discussed with co-workers. You were a professor of literature for crying out loud, and conspiracy theories were not lighthearted conversations to have while walking into the building in the morning.

“That sounds like a deep subject with many specific ideas to pick out. Most definitely a large subject to write about, that much is certain. It’s brave and intriguing. Especially to anyone interested in theories, urban legends, and history to connect them together.”

“Yes…exactly.” He straightened up and gauged your expression. “You’re not…making fun of it…?”

“No, not at all, Mister Poole. Every writer has their own right in what to have in their work. Added that both legends and conspiracy theories are quite intriguing in their own rights. I, myself, enjoy the more ancient theories in the world.”

“Oh. Okay then.” Riley seemed genuinely surprised and more relaxed by your reaction.

You smiled at him.

The following minutes ticked by without the attention of you nor Mister Riley Poole. Time was spent talking, discussing, giving him suggestions, suggested websites, and a library nearby with good resources. All the while, he took notes and you two shared knowledge on theories, if only partially. It was easy to talk with him. Fun even.

When your eyes happened to check the time on the clock, you realized you needed to grab your things and head over to teach a class soon. Extremely soon.

“Shoot,” you muttered under your breath.

“Hmm?” Mister Poole glanced up from his notes.

“I have a class in seven minutes.” You started shutting down your computer and reached over for your bag. “It was a delight to speak with you today. I’m glad we had a chance to meet, Mister Poole.”

“It was nice to meet you.”

He gathered all of his belongings and shoved them into his backpack in one go. Standing up, Mister Poole shrugged on his bag.

You stood away from your desk with your bag hanging off of your shoulder.

“If you should need any more assistance with your book,” you plucked a business card off of your desk, “please don’t hesitate to contact me.” Extending your hand, you handed him your card.

He took a glance at it.

“I teach most of the afternoon in either lectures or meetings, however I do get off work after four thirty. Again, please don’t hesitate to contact me,” you smiled.

“Thank you.”

“Not a problem.”

Stepping around the wooden desk, you followed him out of your office.

“I hope to see you again, Mister Poole.” You said as you turned to lock the door.

“Me too.”

His smile was soft and genuine.

. . .

Back home, Riley called his best friend, Ben Gates.

“So, how did everything go?”

“Great actually. Although, you could have mentioned that she was pretty.”

“Now, Riley, why would I do that?”

“Because it would have prepared me to focus more on my notes.”

“You took notes? Good.”

“Ben.” Riley paced around his living space.

“Oh, come on. You can handle being around another person.”

“Yeah, I know that, but I didn’t expect to be telling a cute and smart person what I’m having difficulties with in writing a book about conspiracy theories.”

“So you told her?”

“Yes, she took it really well. I think she was serious. Didn’t bring up Bigfoot or anything like that.”

“That’s good. Did you get all of your questions answered?” Ben asked.

“Pretty much, and she said that if I needed any more help, that I can contact her,” Riley flipped the small business card between his fingers.

“She gave you her number?”

“In case I need more help. Yes. Also that she works basically all day until four thirty.”

“Call her after four thirty,” Abigail’s voice came through the phone.

“Uh, hi,” Riley said and sat onto the couch. “Why?”

“Ask if she is busy after work, but call at four forty, so that way she has some time to herself after leaving work. And you don’t want to seem too desperate.”

“Desperate? What are you two talking about?” Riley spoke louder into the phone. “I can handle writing a book.”

. . .

You sipped from a refreshing drink at a back table at a pizza place just off of the school campus. Surprisingly, Mister Riley Poole had called you a quarter to five and asked if you were busy after work. He was a bit short on words, but he had said he had more questions in regards to gathering proper research for his book.

With no papers to grade and not minding helping him once more, you had accepted.

The pizza place had a slow flow of hungry students and other pizza-lovers. Silverware clinking onto plates and glassware thunking onto the tables.

Hungry as you were to order pizza, you were patient. This was your time off the clock, which gave you breathing room. You were keeping an eye out towards the entrance of the place as you waited for Riley Poole. Hands rubbing together and fiddling around as time ticked away. Although, once your eyes spotted a familiar navy jacket, you figured Riley was not one to be late. That was refreshing.

He walked inside and gave the place a once-over. It took him a few moments to spot you in the back.

Standing up, you waved Riley over after gaining his attention.

The man smiled before weaving through the tables and people to reach you. Lacking his backpack from earlier in the day seemed to have made his task a little easier.

“Hi,” he smiled once more.

“Hi again.”

You both automatically sat down across from one another. The metal chair legs screeching against the flooring.

“How was your day?” You asked.

“Ah—good. Sorting my notes. They were really helpful. You were really helpful.” He cleared his throat. “Thank you.”

“It’s not a problem. Really.”

You looked passed Riley as a server approached your table.

“Hello,” they greeted with a notepad in hand and looked to Riley. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

“Oh, uh—. Water would be fine.”

“Okay.” They scribbled a note down. “And are you two ready to order?”

“Yes.” You and Riley answered simultaneously. It briefly dazed you even as an amused smile curved your lips.

Riley pulled on the trim of his jacket.

The both of you had finished ordering a pizza of your choice. Leading to open conversation as you would wait for dinner.

“Did…did your lectures—class go good?” Riley asked, fingers clasped tightly on the table.

“Yeah, they did. I did two lectures today. Although I did end up going over time—not that the class had ended and I went on and on.” You explained, “I didn’t stop as early as I would have liked. About five minutes before class ends. I like to give my students time to take notes and actually pack their things before they have to head off to another class, get lunch, or…well some have a job too.”

“That’s really considerate. Don’t some teache—professors go until time’s up? Getting all their time in?”

“Some do. I mean the ones I had, but I don’t have to worry about that anymore.” You grinned, a light and relieved feeling in your chest. “I have my own classes and my own way of running a class. Which means I know that students have more than one class and an actual life.”

He sat mirroring your grin. Little crinkles beside his eyes.

“Was becoming a professor your type of rebelling against them?”

You barked a laugh louder than you would have preferred.

“In a way,” you pressed your lips together to hide another grin. “I also give advice sometimes. It’s not exactly what they go in expecting. They…they call it ‘words of wisdom’, but only on Wednesdays. I just….say what actually happens or had happened. They need someone to be real with them. What actually happens in the world outside of school. It’s something I would have really benefited from.”

“Could you give an example?”

“Uh. Maybe something it terms of…Well, let’s say I was telling them to find good sources for a paper. Right? I can’t just say, ‘go forth’, I need to give them a better direction. Where to find it and more importantly why. So I’ll probably go on a mini rant about why finding a source and a reliable one is so important. Telling them how if they were to read someone’s paper to learn something, but then realize that more than half of it was not factual or wasn’t checked properly, that they’d feel cheated. That goes for fiction too, but it needs to have some foundation and have its own rules.”

You took a moment to breath after that half-winded explanation. Looking to the man across from you, he seemed thoroughly interested and not lost from your words. In fact, Riley looked somewhere between amused and impressed.

“Though…um…,” you grabbed your glass, “that’s probably a topic more related to the class. Unlike, where to go have your taxes done.”

“Is that why you have a lecture hall and not a classroom? Like, there’s always a lot of students?”

“A part. Maybe. But being a professor sure helps.” You took a sip of your drink.

“Do you prefer a lot of students—all in one class?” He asked, leaned on the table’s edge.

“More students, more learning, but…I’d really prefer a small class size so that each student had a better opportunity for one-on-ones. But everyone’s rotating between classrooms and lecture halls. I want to help, just that everyone is almost always rushing around the campus needing to do something. Like that of one class that could not wait for someone to calmly leave another.” You exhaled, “the class I teach is generalized and therefore made into a lecture hall style.”

“That su—.”

“Here you go,” the server returned and gave Riley the drink he ordered. After a short moment, they left the table once more.

“So,” you started, “what about you? Anything you’re glad changed in your life?”

His dark eyebrows rose as he took a long drink of the water.

“…Too personal?” You asked.

“No,” he coughed. “No, I..uh..I actually…well let’s just say I was stuck in a cubicle for a while.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, no, it’s better now. Great actually. Who knew treasure hunting with my best friend would work out in the long run.” He offered a smile.

Ah, he must mean the Templar’s treasure, you thought. He hadn’t brought that up at the meeting earlier. Not the bragging type. Cool.

You had already met Ben Gates, Riley Poole’s best friend, the week prior at a lecture. Therefore, you knew that Riley was involved with finding the treasure, but that wasn’t something you were going to bring up in conversation out of the blue nor during a meeting to help him know where to source proper research. It would have been really odd and unprofessional if you did.

“Is the Templar’s treasure something you’ll put into your book?” You asked.

Riley’s eyes widened only for a second before answering, “I will. It’s a large historical find.”

“Added that the treasure is something a lot of people are still talking about. I’m sure it’ll be studied and talked about for years. So…maybe being the first to write about it will be really good. Get your foot already in the door.”

“Exactly.”

There was something endearing about how he talked about his future book. The hint of joy and deep knowledge in his eyes.

“So…may I ask what happened? I mean, I’ve read the articles and I talked briefly with Mister Gates, but was it really like a movie? Adventure, clues, and danger?”

His fingers played against his glass of water as he sat up straighter.

“There were definitely a lot of clues. That’s all we started with, finding the Charlotte, but then Ben and I were running between staying alive and getting to the Declaration of Independence. Our main…objective was to save the Declaration of Independence. We couldn’t let Ia—the other people harm the Declaration, looking the next clues on the back.”

“On the back of the Declaration? Huh…You never know I guess.”

Your attention veered over as the waiter arrived with a tray of pizza.

“It’s hot,” they warned. They set the silver tray on the table’s end before walking off again.

Like the two hungry adults that you were, you each grabbed your own slice.

Once yours was on your plate, you dabbed the pizza at least three times with napkins. You ordered pizza, not grease.

About a minute of salivating into your meal later, you continued into a conversation with Riley.

“At least everything worked out in the end.”

“Huh?” He looked up from taking a bite of pizza.

“With the Templar’s treasure. You were all okay.”

“Oh, yeah. Thank goodness for stairs and not being charged for anything was nice. That would had been great.” He made a face looking elsewhere before taking another bite of pizza.

This Riley Poole appeared to be quite the sarcastic, smart, funny, and not to miss acknowledging his seemingly random knowledge about topics. You were starting to think that if you spent anymore time with him, that you’d like him in a different way.

Kindly, you pushed the small stack of napkins in his direction.

He smiled. Then the pizza slice broke away from the crust and dropped to the plate. He made an unamused sound in his throat.

Nevermind. That boat had set sail.

You took a long sip of your drink.

“You can call me, (Y/N). This isn’t exactly a strict setting,” you said, breaking through the calm quiet that fell between you.

. . .

“So…I just realized something.”

“What?” He asked.

“We never spoke about resources or anything,” you mused with a smile.

“Oh.” His shoulders fell two inches along with his happy grin.

You laughed at the genuine realization on his face.

“Maybe we can…?” He scratched behind his neck.

“Try this again?”

“Yeah.”

“I’d like that.”

~~~

(If you love my writings and want to support me, I have a Ko-Fi where you can buy me a coffee. I would be eternally grateful. coffee

Best wishes and happy reading.)

#Riley Poole #Riley Poole x Reader #riley poole imagine #riley poole imagines #riley poole fanfiction #national treasure #National treasure fanfiction #where dreamers go #requested

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graglithans-library · 4 years ago

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Welcome to Paris Fur-ance Ch 10: Briefing, Investigation, and Sisterly Bonding

I firstly would like to acknowledge that yes, I am two weeks late on this.

I secondly would like to address that I will post multiple chapters into the Queue to make up for that.

So for now, enjoy a sudden influx of story for you tumblr lurkers.

Shirou and Ladybug go over what happened with Miracle Queen, and Shirou begins his investigation into the matter. Meanwhile, Michiru and Nazuna have a bonding moment at the Tsurugi household.

Landing atop a roof bordering a fountain plaza, Ladybug looked over to Shirou as he landed nearby. “This was where we last encountered Hawkmoth.”

“Do you mind if I take a look around?” Ladybug shook her head, and Shirou started to examine the area. No scents left. Likely washed away by rainfall. Not surprising with the time frame, but that would have made this a lot easier.

As Shirou looked around, however, Ladybug’s mind began to go back to when it had happened. She could practically see it all over again, everyone standing in the courtyard, or on the roof, right where they had been that fateful day.

Master Fu as he desperately tried to protect himself with the Turtle from Hawkmoth and Mayura’s sentimonster.

Miracle Queen’s laugh as she forced almost her entire team to transform and attack both her and Chat.

Hawkmoth’s malicious smile as he held the Miracle Box, if only for that one fight.

Master Fu naming her guardian at the cost of his memories.

Chloé as she greedily grabbed as many Miraculous as she could after being un-akumatized.

Shirou’s attention was back to the young heroine as a small shudder ripped through her. The haunted look in her eyes made him pause for only a moment. “What exactly happened?”

Letting out a steady breath, Ladybug straightened up and looked down over the plaza. “Chloé Bourgeois, a former Miraculous user, aided Hawkmoth in a planned attack that targeted the Guardian instead of Chat or myself. The result was the exposure of our entire team of backup heroes, the near loss of all the Miraculous, and the former Guardian losing all memory of the Miraculous as he passed the title on to me.” Turning to Shirou, she frowned. “The only reason I’m telling you her name is that, of all the Miraculous users, Chloé had already announced herself to all of Paris, which is how Hawkmoth knew to target her in the first place.”

Shirou put a hand to his chin and hummed; eyes closed. She said this Bourgeois girl was here as well and was with Hawkmoth at the time, right? Opening his eyes, Shirou looked to Ladybug. “I’ll need to do some digging around, but I have an idea of where to start. Do you know where Bourgeois currently is?”

Nodding, Ladybug pointed over towards another part of town. Shirou could see there were more businesses there than homes. Still, a hotel could be seen dominating the other buildings by presence alone. “Chloé has been under house arrest ever since it got out that she willingly aided Hawkmoth.” Ladybug sighed and shook her head, looking sadly down at the fountain. “Her father is the current Mayor of Paris, and owner of ‘Le Grand Paris.’ Due to her age and her father’s influence, the house arrest was the extent of her sentencing. She could have had a far worse punishment. She's lucky.”

Raising an eyebrow, Shirou seemed skeptical. “You don’t sound like you agree.”

Ladybug shook her head softly as she looked up from the fountain and over the city. “Hawkmoth manipulates the emotions of those he interacts with, no Akuma needed. Just being in his vicinity for too long can let him warp your mind. It’s something I managed to learn from the old master’s grimoire before we lost it as well. It would be child’s play to set off Chloé's temper and bait her into working with him, considering how much of a brat she was before all of this started. Even then, we keep akumatized victim’s identities private from the media as much as we can, so I’m surprised she even was called out and tried. There wasn’t a person in Paris who was aware of what was happening during her akumatization.”

Shirou took a moment to think over everything, letting out a steady breath. A scandalous leak regarding the Mayor and a lack of police to track a terrorist involved with the scandal. Whoever let it out would have to know it was willing or used false evidence to make it look that way. Either way, this looks like a means to punish the mayor or keep him in line. Stepping over to where Ladybug was standing, Shirou’s voice made the heroine turn to him. “I’ll get back to you with what I’ve found at a later date. Can we meet here?”

Ladybug nodded one last time as she grabbed her yo-yo. “Sure, but how will you get a hold of me?”

“I’ve heard you like to patrol at night,” Shirou smirked and pointed at the roof. “I’ll just wait.”

“R-Right.” Ladybug blushed a bit and cleared her throat. “Well, I’ll let you get to- uh, Investigating. Bug out!”

Shirou was a little impressed at how fast she fled, and as a result, he couldn’t help but picture Michiru running off as well. “I think she and Michiru would get along well.” He paused at the thought before scowling at himself. He had more important tasks to focus on.

Starting with Le Grand Paris.

________________________________________________________________

By the time Shirou had made his way to Le Grand Paris, it was almost dawn. He looked up at the building’s windows and hummed in thought. “So, she’s supposed to be somewhere in here.” His eyes focused on the topmost windows, noting how they had access to the roof. According to what I was told, she had the top floor’s suite to herself. He could easily have jumped up the fire escape and entered that way. However, if he was going to do this, he decided he’d try more... legal methods first. It should be possible to ask to speak with Bourgeois without breaking and entering. House Arrest usually did not mean nobody could talk with the detained.

Maybe Michiru is rubbing off on me. Shirou looked over to his right and saw a distinct lack of chaos happening. Nevermind. The city’s still standing.

Walking inside, he looked for the first member of the staff he could find. The receptionist, some exasperated looking woman, jolted up at the sound of the door before smiling nervously. “G-Good even- uh, good morning, sir! How may I help you?”

Shirou’s gaze, stern as ever, went right through the poor woman. “I’m looking for a Chloé Bourgeois. Can you tell me where I can find her-” Shirou looked down at her nametag and raised an eyebrow. “Mireille?”

Mirielle paled at the mention of the young girl before looking down. “I-I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t help you. Mlle. Bourgeois was removed from the hotel some time ago.” She nervously gestured towards the elevator, eyes closed to keep from looking at anyone. “I would take you to see Mayor Bourgeois, but you would need to schedule an appointment. H-He’s been a rather busy man these days.” She gulped a bit and kept her eyes down at her papers. “Is there anything else I c-can help with?”

Shirou, let out a breath through his nose before turning to the front doors. “Thank you for the information.”

Looking back over his shoulder as he was on the sidewalk once more, Shirou could see Mirielle collapse onto the counter before hastily grabbing the phone and calling someone. He could smell how panicked she was from out here, and he walked around the building to the back.

Illegal methods it is.

Climbing the fire escape, Shirou soon was standing on the roof and looking at the doors leading inside. A quick check found the door unlocked, and he made his way inside the suite.

Looking around, he could tell it was cleaned recently. Everything was folded neatly or packed away in their proper places. What he didn’t see, however, was any signs of someone living in the room. Expected, but let’s test how thorough the staff is. He opened various drawers and the closet, looking for any missed items, and found nothing. A check under the bed proved just as fruitless.

A whiff of something in the air, however, made him pause. He turned towards the kitchen, and his eyes narrowed. Walking in, he looked around until a glint from the window caught his eye. A pair of sunglasses, yellow-gold in color, were sitting on the windowsill as if they were thrown there. Picking the glasses up, Shirou gave a cursory sniff before humming. Her scent’s still here; I can use that.

Closing his eyes, he inhaled.

The scents were a story all their own.

He could smell what he assumed was Chloé. That was no surprise. However, other scents should not have been so fresh. At least four men, all of the more muscular builds, and the scent of adrenaline. He could also smell a hint of blood, which made his hackles rise. Most worrying, though, was the scent of someone rather important to his current predicament.

The man who robbed the Medical Center was here sometime last night. However, his scent was older than the other men. Whatever reason he was here, it was a short trip.

Opening his eyes, Shirou looked at the glasses and scowled. Something more was going on here in Paris than just his perp running loose.

And at least part of it was tied to this Chloé girl.

________________________________________________________________

Michiru was bored.

She would have spent the day playing basketball, but there wasn’t a hoop to be seen in the Tsurugi estate.

She would have hung out with Kagami, but unlike yesterday, the heiress had to go to class.

She would have gone into town to see what was going on. However, she didn’t speak French. She was also required to be shifted into a human outside the estate per Shirou and Mrs. Tsurugi’s orders.

So in all, the tanuki had quite the conundrum; one she was having trouble solving. However, since the best problem solvers she knew were either in Japan or somewhere in the city, she went to the available one.

Namely, the friend who was just trying to enjoy a cup of tea.

“So... what do we do today?”

Nazuna had been in the midst of taking a sip of tea when Michiru had found her in the main foyer and almost choked from Michiru’s sudden appearance. She raised an eyebrow at her friend’s question for a moment before humming in thought and setting her cup down. “Well, it’s not like we can just go around Paris without Kagami or Shirou. Neither of us has any money either.” Taking another sip, Nazuna set her cup down and shrugged. “I guess we just hang around here for the day and enjoy some tea.”

Groaning, Michiru slumped forward with a whine and let her arms dangle. “Really wishing I’d taken those French courses.”

Stopping short of grabbing her tea again, Nazuna’s eyes widened as she looked over at Michiru in surprise. “You had the chance to learn French? You? ”

Michiru shrugged a bit and rubbed the back of her head. “Mayor Rose offered. She also offered me German and English.”

Nazuna’s face scrunched in confusion. “I thought you passed our English classes.”

A blush started to grow on Michiru’s face as she rubbed her head a little faster. “I did, but It’s been so long since I’ve had to use it, so I uh... mostly forgot?” Nazuna shot her a deadpan stare. “I wasn’t exactly social for a good year before heading to Anima City, sue me!”

Chuckling a bit as she got up, Nazuna smiled at Michiru. “Right. So why did she offer those lessons again?” Michiru’s jaw tightened as she looked up, sweating bullets. Nazuna’s smile fell into a small frown as she raised her eyebrow again. “Michiru?”

Nervously glancing anywhere but Nazuna, Michiru let out a shaky laugh. “I uh... may have been offered an advisor position like Shirou’s?” The foyer was left in dead silence. Michiru risked a glance at Nazuna, only to find her unblinking gaze boring right into her. “Nazuna, you’re staring.” When the stare continued, Michiru’s nerves started to act up, making her shrink back into a ball and tuck her tail between her legs. “Nazuna, please! Stop! It was just the advisor position she offered, not the butt-kicking! I swear it’s the safe job and not the dangerous one!”

Michiru didn’t have a chance to dodge the sudden bone-crushing hug she was pulled into.

No longer in her chair and spinning around in circles, squealing all the while, Nazuna beamed at her friend with absolute jubilation before setting her down. “This is amazing!”

A thoroughly dazed Michiru’s head rolled around a bit as her eyes did the same in their sockets. “Eh?”

Nazuna stepped back as Michiru got her bearings. “Michiru, didn’t you say you wanted to help with relations between beastmen and humans and how we had a ‘unique perspective’ since we’ve been both?”

Blushing a bit, Michiru rubbed the back of her neck. “Well, yeah, but-”

“Then, this is perfect!” Nazuna excitedly cheered before remembering where they were. Blushing a bit as she calmed herself, she waved a hand idly. “I mean, I’d probably help you if I wasn’t already starting my idol career,” Nazuna added with a smile, “but this would even let your parents come and see you once we get back!”

Michiru froze for a moment before looking down with a fragile smile. “Yeah... my parents.”

Nazuna’s own smile faded down into a concerned frown. “Did... did something happen?”

Michiru was silent for a moment before nodding as she started to rub her arm. “...Dad... wasn't happy about,” she waved a hand at herself, “this.”

“...what?”

Michiru hastily waved her hands in front of her and gave a shaky smile. “I mean, at least Mom tried to be there for me! So you don’t have to worry about that! But... uh...” She sighed and let her shoulders sag a bit. “Yeah... He made it clear he wasn’t happy about what happened to us.”

Grimacing for a moment, Nazuna soon pulled Michiru in for a much softer hug than before. “I’m so sorry, Michiru. I-I shouldn’t have-”

Chuckling dryly, Michiru hugged her back. “It’s alright, Nazuna. It’s not like I told you or anything.” Letting go of the hug, she gave her usual bright smile and a thumbs up. “Besides. Shirou’s our dad now, even if he won’t say it out loud.” The two laughed a bit at that and moved back to where Nazuna had left her tea. As they sat, Michiru’s ears perked up as she hummed in thought. “Now that I think about it, do you think he and my mom would get along? She did say she wanted to adopt you after meeting your parents that one time.”

Nazuna snorted in amusement and picked up her drink. “That might be pretty entertaining to see, actually.” Sighing softly, she looked down at her tea. “Still... sorry about bringing up parents. I guess I was just hoping your family had reacted better than mine did.”

Michiru’s eyes narrowed as she frowned. “Nazuna. What did those jerks do?”

Shrugging, Nazuna looked off to the side for a moment. “They disowned me the moment they saw me.” Michiru’s jaw dropped, but Nazuna smirked evilly as she took a sip. “Jokes on them, though. I’m famous now, and I’m not sharing anything.” She gave Michiru a wink. “Unless, of course, they grovel at my fuzzy toes. Then maybe I’ll consider it.”

The two laughed at the thought, knowing full well that there was absolutely no way Nazuna’s parents would even attempt that. When they both got a hold of themselves, Michiru wiped a tear from her eye and jabbed a thumb towards the front door. “... Say, want to go hunt down Shirou and get involved in whatever he’s up to?”

“It’s not like you do anything else most of the time, and you usually drag me along anyway.”

“All of those incidents were one hundred percent unintentional, and you know it.”

“That’s a load of crap, and we have video evidence to prove it.”

“In my defense, I was left unsupervised.”

“Marie was there.”

“In our defense, we were left unsupervised.”

#Welcome to Paris Fur-ance #miraculous ladybug #BNA #brand new animal #fanfiction #Chapter 10

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nekojitachan · 5 years ago

Text

okay, so I posted last week (?) about an AFTG fic idea based on an old movie.

this isn’t it - blame/thank this on @sig66, as we began talking about classic movies and this one came up as a possibility for an AFTG fic, and I’ve been working on it and backstories ever since (think I’ll save the other one for either a possible big bang or a ‘proper’ fic).

Anyway, thank @sig66 for this - no idea of when I’ll be updating this, but for now, it’s a tumblr story and I’ll TRY to get it updated inbetween ‘proper’ fic updates (so maybe every other week, possibly sooner?). I’ve a lot of backstory for this, so while the movie is the backbone of the fic, expect it to expand from it (if you’re at all familiar with the film).

As for this first part, it really just sets things up.

Only trigger warnings should be for Neil’s past in Baltimore (and vague at that).

How to Steal a (lot of) Million(s) Part 1/? *******

Nathaniel sat hunched over in one of the waiting room’s plastic chair, desperate to quiet, to be still, to not draw any attention to himself like his mother had taught him. Each time the elderly woman behind the desk looked his way to give him a reassuring smile or someone came into the room he nearly flinched before he remembered that he wasn’t supposed to react, that reacting was bad. The bruises and neatly stitched cuts hidden beneath his black pants and black, green and white plaid sweater reminded him of just how bad it could be to show any negative emotions.

It just… it was so hard when his mother wasn’t there to shield him from the worst of the curious looks, to give his arm a warning squeeze and whisper ‘Abram’ in his ear to remind him when he got out of line. Normally he was with her back with the doctor, was the reason for their visit (‘a fall down the stairs’, ‘a fight with another boy’, ‘an accident in the kitchen’), but for some reason she’d gone there alone.

What had she done to upset his father so much?

He shoved that thought aside as quickly as he could.

Fortunately, it was just another few minutes before she came out through the one door, her face set in a blank expression which made him clamor onto his feet in an instant and stand up straight while some middle-aged man in a white coat continued to talk to her in a hushed voice. She brushed him off as she motioned Nathanial to the door leading out of the doctor’s office, which he scrambled toward without seeming to rush (he’d learned how to do that in the last year or so).

She didn’t speak until they were out in the blue sedan which she hated for some reason. “It’s all right,” she told him once they were on the highway which would take them back to the house. “Your father knows where we were today, I told him it was a regular check-up.” She motioned to her purse while she spoke. “That I needed a new script.”

Nathaniel didn’t quite understand what she meant by the last part but nodded along; what mattered was that he didn’t have to lie about where they were after his mother had picked him up from school. “All right.”

It was quiet for another couple of minutes. “I want you to pack a few of your clothes in a small bag, just some random ones. Not many, only what you’d need for a couple of days. Then put that bag in the back of your closet. Can you do that, Abram?” she asked without looking at him.

Long used to his mother asking things of him without any explanation, Nathaniel nodded. “Yes, Mum.”

“Good boy. Now, let’s review your latest French lesson.” They spent the rest of the drive back to the house going over various verb tenses until he almost felt at peace, until the anxiety was almost gone (but it was never truly gone, not when they always went back to that place, when Father or Lola or Patrick would be waiting for them).

He put her request out of mind once he’d done what she’d asked, aware of the risk he faced if his father caught him (pain until he answered, pain for not giving any good explanations, pain and pain and pain), and life went on as ‘normal’ in his father’s house (pain). All Nathaniel wanted was to get through the day without setting off the man, without being a disappointment somehow, with not having to go into the basement to learn cruel lessons, to take up knives or have the blades turned on him.

The only true thing he knew about life was that it was filled with disappointment and pain.

Then about a week after the doctor’s appointment, his mother woke him in the middle of the night, told him to be quiet and to grab the bag he’d prepared, then snuck him out of the house while everyone else either slept or were gone (inflicting that pain on others). He thought it was some sort of fever dream (aftermath of the latest cuts inflicted upon him earlier that day), especially when they ended up at the local airport with two first class tickets to fly to London that night.

Especially when his mother, thrumming with an energy he’d never seen in her before, dragged him (exhausted from being awake so long and expecting his father to appear any moment) from the airport and into the crowded metropolis to some stone-faced building (one in a row of them) and pounded on the door until a man only a few inches taller than her and maybe a little older with dark blond hair (tousled as if he’d just gotten out of bed despite the lateness of the afternoon) and similar grey eyes opened the door to stare at them as if they were ghosts.

“Mary? Bugger me… Mary?” he gasped out as he slumped against the door as if in shock. “And… Nathaniel?”

“Abram,” she snapped as she dropped the bag in her left hand onto the ground. “I don’t want to hear that name again. Now are you going to let us in? We’re knackered, you daft fool.”

“You… bugger me,” the man repeated as he rubbed at his eyes as if he was tired (or seeing things). “Okay, come on in,” he mumbled as he stepped back.

“That’s your Uncle Stuart,” Nathaniel’s mother informed him as they entered the house. “You can trust him.”

If Mary told him he could… Nathaniel gave the man (currently muttering about needing some damn coffee) a shy look as he pressed against his mother’s side, still not convinced that all of this wasn’t one crazy dream – running away from his father to his mother’s family, to possibly finding a safe haven. Yet the man (his uncle) gave him a kind smile and asked if he wanted some biscuits and tea.

Nathaniel (Abram) knew it was reality when his mother died of advanced ovarian cancer less than a year later.

*******

“Sold for $190,000 to the gentleman in front of me. Thank you very much, sir,” the auctioneer called out in English, though still bearing a thick French accent. “Now up next, ladies and gentlemen, is item number thirty-four per the catalog, and we’re accepting bids from New York, London and Hong Kong both online and via telephone as well as in person. This great Cezanne painting is from the world famous Josten collection, sold by order of the present head of the Josten family, Monsieur Stuart Josten.” He gestured to an elegant figure standing toward the back of the room and next to the wall as if trying to avoid attention, dressed in a simple tuxedo. The man gave a nervous smile and a slight bow while people applauded, and one even shook his hand.

“Now, ladies and gentlemen, who will start the bidding on this superb post-impressionist masterpiece at $200,000?” the auctioneer called out as he stood in front of the painting of a woman in a red dress. The bidding commenced and immediately rose to $500,000 while ‘Stuart Josten’ watched on in delight.

*******

Neil tore through Paris in the supped-up MG Midget that Matt had gifted him a couple of years ago, on his way to the latest home he shared with his uncle after hearing the news about Stuart’s recent bout of… of… idiocy. Okay, so maybe the Hatfords weren’t exactly on the up and up….

Okay, so the Hatfords were so fucking far away from the up and up. Did Stuart really have to set a stupid record with the sale of his latest little ‘project’? Really?

Neil nearly rammed the car into the ornate stonework in front of the small, old mansion before he put the car into park and jumped out, then ran up the steps into the house. Davis was there to take his cap and bomber jacket, and to inform him that Stuart was indeed home and upstairs.

“Thanks,” Neil told his uncle’s assistant, well aware that the man didn’t have to rat out his boss like that, and caught the wink sent his way; Davis knew that someone was about to catch an earful right then.

He went up the curved staircase and into the one sitting room, where after making sure that no one was around (old habits died hard), he climbed into the ‘special’ wardrobe; once inside, he slid back the false panels so he could access the secret room behind them.

The spiral staircase in the hidden room led him up to the studio where his uncle worked on his forgeries, a large space filled with artworks in progress and various pieces which inspired them – statues and all sorts of paintings. Once again, Neil was amazed at his uncle’s talent, and a bit chagrined that Stuart focused it on reproducing existing works of art.

“Hello, brat,” Stuart called out to him from where he sat behind an easel, dressed in an old smock over his clothes and paint smeared over his left cheek.

“Hello, Stu,” Neil responded as he came over to give the man who’d raised him ever since he was ten years old a hug.

“Be careful,” Stuart chided with affection even as he gently hugged Neil in return. “I’m covered with paint.”

“When aren’t you? And you’re also covered with money,” Neil shot back. “Allison told me about the auction when I stopped by.”

“Ah yes, the Cezanne.” Stuart grinned with pride as he leaned back. “I could have sold a dozen of them at that auction! But one was enough.”

“One is more than enough!” Neil gritted out as he tried not to grow angry with the man. “I thought we talked about this! It’s getting too risky these-“

“Ah, ah, not now, I’m busy,” Stuart told him as he shooed Neil out of the way of his laptop screen, where he had a close-up of the Van Gogh painting he was currently reproducing. “How nice of him to only use his first name like that, makes it so much easier.”

“Not again!” Neil felt the urge to grab something and throw it, but refused to give in to his temper like that because… because of reasons. “It’s too soon!”

Stuart gave him a patronizing look as he began to wipe clean his brushes. “Don’t worry, this one won’t be sold for a long, long time. We’ll hang it up, let people look at it and appreciate it, and who knows, maybe some legendary, asshole tycoon will be able to persuade me to part with it if the price is right.”

Despite himself, Neil had to smile as he helped Stuart with the brushes. “You’re such a scoundrel.”

“Thank you, you little brat.” Stuart smiled back and swiped a (clean, thankfully) brush along the tip of Neil’s nose. Then he blanched as Neil nearly tipped over the plate containing specks of dirt. “Be careful! That’s my Van Gogh dirt,” he explained as he hurried to pick it up and place it in the one cupboard where he kept his more precious supplies, like the pigments he used in his forgeries. “That’s the dirt from his neighborhood, it took some effort to collect it. What I don’t go through to make these things as authentic as possible,” he complained as he stored it away. “Doubt Van Gogh did as much.”

“He didn’t have to, he was Van Gogh,” Neil snarked as he plopped down in a spare chair. “Sort of the point of it, no?”

“Yeah, kiddo, but in his lifetime, he only sold one painting, and I’ve already sold two as him,” Stuart shot back.

Neil felt a headache coming on and wished that he’d stopped to put on a pot of tea first. “You do know that selling someone else’s painting’s a crime, right? And they have all this lovely technology now to figure out that your stuff is a fake?”

Stuart scoffed as he continued to clean the brushes. “But I only sell the stuff to rich people, and they’re too stuck-up to admit that they might have been fooled into buying fakes. Know your audience, brat, rule number one.” He threw an old rag at Neil, who rolled his eyes at the familiar saying. “And don’t throw any stones, after half the shit you’ve pulled.”

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, and I-“ Neil frowned at the sound of sirens outside of the house, which only grew louder as if they were approaching the place. He got up from the chair to go look out the nearest window, and blanched when he saw several police cars pull into the house’s driveway. “Fuck, the police are here!”

“What?” Stuart rushed over to his side so he could look out as well, then let out a harsh breath. “Don’t scare me like that, kiddo, it’s just the director of the Kleber-Lafayette Museum, here about the Cellini Venus.”

“Eh?” For a moment, those words didn’t make any sense – why wasn’t Stuart worried? Since when didn’t the Hatfords have anything to fear from the police showing up in force (sure, some were paid off, mostly in the UK, but…)? Then he remembered about the damn statue and groaned. “That thing? What about it?”

“The Cellini Venus is to be the outstanding feature of a great loan exhibition – the masterpieces of French Collection,” Stuart informed him with pride as he scrubbed his hands free of paint.

Screw tea, Neil was willing to start drinking alcohol right about now. “Not in public,” Neil all but wailed as he thought about the damn forgery, a piece of ‘pride’ in the family. “It’s not really French,” he hissed. “We’re not French!”

“They don’t know that,” Stuart told him with a wry grin as he pulled on a dress coat as if to make himself presentable. “Come now, we can’t leave them waiting.”

“Not in public,” Neil repeated as he hurried after his uncle and caught him in time to wipe away the smudge of paint on his left cheek, certain that Davis would stall the people downstairs; he was grateful that he’d stopped by Allison’s earlier and let her (well, couldn’t stop her, really) dress him in something ‘acceptable’. He straightened the collar of his Maison Kitsune shirt and made sure it was tucked into the Amiri jeans his friend wouldn’t let him leave until he put on.

Sometimes he thought that his family’s enforcers could learn a thing or two about intimidation from the woman.

“I’ll be down in a minute, Monsieur Aldritch,” Stuart called out while he motioned to Neil to make sure that the wardrobe was properly closed up, still busy fussing with his own outfit as he did his best to look like ‘Stuart Josten’, eccentric art collector and not Stuart Hatford, member of one of Europe’s most infamous crime families.

“No hurry, Monsieur Josten,” some man called back in return as Neil and his uncle made their way down the stairs; Neil did his best to remain calm in the face of so many armed officers being inside his home while Stuart gave them a friendly smile; it helped that Davis stood off to the side, doing a perfect impression of an unremarkable butler and not someone who could kill them all in under a minute.

Aldritch and Stuart exchanged greetings while Neil did his best not to glare figurative daggers at the back of his uncle’s head over him being so foolish as to loan out a fake which had been a family ‘heirloom’ and joke for years. Somehow he summoned a smile when he was introduced to the museum’s director, and had to bite his tongue when the man thanked his uncle for keeping such a priceless treasure in France like a ‘true’ Frenchman (if he only knew the truth).

Personally, Neil didn’t see what the fuss was about the damn statue, which looked just like any other Venus statue in his mind, though supposedly his grandfather had done a remarkable job with the forgery (and was the reason why Stuart preferred that particular crime to the rest of the ‘family business’). It had passed various inspections in the past… but Neil lived in fear of technology catching up to his uncle one day, and including the Cellini Venus in a big art exhibit just might be what attracted the wrong attention.

He attempted to ‘help’ Aldritch and the man’s assistants load the marble statue into its padded travel case, but Stuart knew him a little too well and pulled him away before he could use the statue’s heavy marble base to ‘accidentally’ break the ‘precious’ artwork and so prevent it from being used in the collection. “Behave, brat,” Stuart whispered in Spanish as the case was locked and carefully picked up.

“This is a mistake,” Neil warned, but it was too late at that point to do anything to stop it as the statue was being carried away.

Once they were gone and Davis offered to put on some tea, Neil gave in to the urge to glare at his uncle. “What the hell have you done?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Stuart gestured to the empty alcove where the statue had rested until a couple of minutes ago. “I did a bloke a solid, I did. They needed something special for that collection they’re putting together, and now your grandfather’s-“

“A fake, you gave them a fake piece of art,” Neil reminded the fool as he ran his hands through his hair, which Allison had done her best to tame earlier. “A piece of marble, which they can use all these nice little bits of machines to scan and run tests on it.”

Stuart scoffed as he undid the buttons to his black dinner jacket and sat down in an antique chair. “They won’t do that to something I loaned out and risk damaging it, which is why I agreed to add it to the collection. Do you know how many offers I’ve had for the damn thing? Even one recently,” he confessed with a slightly pained look, “but I never accept because I won’t risk it.”

“Yet you’re fine with thousands of people gawking at the thing,” Neil mumbled as he sank down on a velvet-covered duvet and took to rubbing his temples in an effort to stave off a headache.

“Hundreds of thousands,” Stuart corrected him, and laughed when Neil groaned. “Don’t you see that I’m proud of it, kiddo? Your grandfather spent months on that thing while your gram posed for him. It’s not just some old piece of marble a barely known Italian banged out, but a family heirloom.”

A family heirloom that was going to get Stuart locked up, and possibly Neil as an accessory (well, more than that when he had to break his uncle out of prison).

Somehow, he had a feeling that he’d be rounding up the gang soon to help them out of a huge mess.

He should have gone off with Henry and Jamie to help them with their ‘little Russian problem’, dammit, no matter how much he hated vodka.

*******

Thanks for like the five people who read this. As stated, updates are whenever. Next part should have Andrew and Kevin and more of the Foxes (lots of backstories there).

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pokemon-swsh-bartender-au-crew · 5 years ago

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Heavy Heart, Heavy Soul: Chapter Fifteen

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Marnie was rather confused when she saw the paper fall out of Leon’s pocket. The right thing to do would have been to go quickly give it back to Leon before Leon could get far from the house, but her curiosity got the best of her as she went and carefully picked up the small paper, unfolding it to look at it. Yeah, you can bet her face paled when she saw what it was after reading it and out of instinct, she crumpled up the paper and threw it harshly at the wall, tears rolling down her cheeks. Why would Leon plan something as cruel as that?! How could… How could Leon even want to do that to Piers?... She didn’t understand why Leon was like this. Didn’t Leon care about Piers? Apparently not according to the note. In short summary, the note had all the little details of how Leon planned on screwing up Piers’s life when Piers gets out of the hospital. But yet, Marnie knew there was nothing she could do to stop this from happening as of the current moment. All she could do was live with the guilt of the fact that her brother’s life was only going to get worse once he leaves the hospital and that there was nothing she could do to prevent it from happening. But she can’t help but wonder what else Leon had done to Piers

Leon was currently headed to the Macro Cosmos building to speak with the Chairman about all the ways they could further screw Piers’s life up. Oh, the terrible things they could do to him were never ending and the possibilities were limitless in all honesty. Unfortunately, Piers would not like anything that Leon and the Chairman had planned for him. And unfortunately for Leon, he had no idea that the paper he had had fallen out of his pocket. When Leon got to the Macro Cosmos building, he didn’t bother booking an appointment to speak to the Chairman. He didn’t really need to schedule an appointment since he is the Champion after all. So, instead of speaking to the secretary at the check-in desk, he just headed straight for the elevator that lead to Rose’s office. As for how he already knew that the Chairman would be more than willing to help out with making Piers suffer, well, he knew that the Chairman just so happened to hate Piers much more than Leon did. Leon thought quietly to himself as he patiently waited for the elevator to reach the floor that Rose’s office was located on. He sighed almost contently as he leaned back against the wall of the elevator, speaking to himself since there was no one else in the elevator with him. “Raihan may have managed to get Piers to let Raihan stay with him for a bit longer, but he can’t stay forever. I just wonder exactly how much more the two of them can handle.” His almost content grin turned to a chilling smirk as he thought of all the ways he could screw Piers’s life up. After all, he only wanted what was best for Raihan, right?

Once the elevator reached the floor Leon had been heading too, Leon stood up straight and walked out of the elevator once the doors were open. As he headed down the hallway, he noticed that it was rather quiet in the hallway for once. Though, he didn’t think there was anything too bad about that. Leon made his way over to Rose’s office door, knocking twice then opening the door. As usual, the Chairman had only been doing some paperwork, so it wasn’t like Leon was interrupting something major. Leon looked over at Rose as he went and sat in a chair on the opposite side of Rose’s desk. “Sorry if I’m interrupting your work, Chairman. But I think you can assume why I’m here, Chairman.” After having heard Leon walk into the room and heard Leon begin talking, he calmly looked up from his paperwork then sat up to return to having proper position. “I’m assuming you’re here to discuss that ‘resignation contract’ Raihan signed?” And as soon as Rose said that, you can bet Leon nodded almost immediately, followed by a chilling grin spreading across Leon’s face. On any normal circumstance, it would be completely unheard of to see Leon with as chilling of a grin as this. “Yes, that’s exactly why I’m here. I’m still surprised that Raihan hadn’t bothered to have read the fine print on that ‘resignation contract’ at all though. Then again, he’s not always observant to the little details such as those. I swear that one of these days, Raihan is going to end up making a major mistake by not reading the fine print of something.” Leon couldn’t help but chuckle a little darkly, now speaking in a chilling tone of voice. “Oh wait, that already happened~”

In all honesty, Rose was not in the least bit surprised by this change of personality from Leon. After all, if there was anyone that would know the real Leon, it was him. Rose was seeming rather calm about all of this, though, he was looking forward to ruining Piers’s life just as much as Leon was. “Well Leon, I’m going to make the assumption that you have plenty of ideas about how to ruin that insomniac rockstar’s life. Aside from anything I had listed in the fine print of the ‘resignation contract’ that Raihan signed, what ideas do you have?” To say the least, Leon had quite a few ideas about how to ruin Piers’s life further. Though for now, he figured he’d only share a few ideas for the time being. “Well... I know for a fact that Piers cannot handle stress well and well, what better way to start off with more suffering than to anonymously start spreading false chilling rumors to ruin Piers’s ‘perfect’ reputation? After all, rumors about famous singers that are as major as Piers is would certainly spread practically like wild fire if a single rumor were to be anonymously made and exposed about Piers. Or would that be escalating things far too quickly? Then again, Piers is in the hospital from almost being murdered by being stabbed in his sleep, so perhaps this wouldn’t be escalating things too quickly. Of course, people are going to be wondering about what motives anyone could have had to have tried to kill Piers, but, I have an idea for a coverup.”

Of course, when Rose heard Piers was in the hospital, he was actually a bit surprised. After all, he hadn’t previously known about Leon attempting to murder Piers. Though, this did not make him feel any differently towards Piers. He still hated that man with a passion, though, it’s not like the public knew how much Rose hated Piers. “And what exactly is your plan for a coverup for the stabbing?” Rose gave Leon a slightly questioning look. Rose knew very well that if word ever got out about what really happened and that if people found out it was Leon who tried to kill Piers, things would go sour rather quickly. Leon of course, wasn’t worried at all. After all, he hasn’t been caught yet, now has he? “Well... I just so happen to know that Piers had gotten into fights with people in the past that had a few charges for attempted murder. Some of those people are in prison, yes, but the ones that hated Piers the most aren’t in prison and actually reside somewhere in Galar. So, if word ever got out that Piers had been involved in certain fights in the past when he was in his early twenties, chances are, people would believe that one of those people that Piers fought with would likely be to blame for Piers being stabbed. And if that doesn’t work out, well, I have a Plan B just in case that first coverup ends up not working out.” Rose sighed softly as he set the pen he had been holding down on his desk. “I hope you are aware of how much trouble you could get in if you get caught and turned in for attempting to murder Piers. While I won’t report you to the authorities, you should still be careful about who finds out about this. Because if you get arrested, you’re likely going to have to stay in jail for quite some time, Leon. Anyways... You said you had other ideas as a backup for the coverup? Mind telling me what one of the ideas are?” Leon nodded, willing to tell Rose his other ideas now.

“Well, I do happen to know that sometimes, when Raihan drinks, he has a tendency of getting angered easily. And since Raihan and Piers’s relationship has been incredibly rocky, if Raihan had gotten drunk at any point that night, he could have taken his anger out on Piers. And what other way would he take his anger out on Piers than by trying to get rid of Piers altogether after every bit of the rocky relationship that’s happened? I’ve noticed that Raihan lately, has been drinking more frequently than he used to. So, as a Plan B coverup, this would possibly work out since well, who’s to say that after Raihan went to the store to get groceries, when he got back, he attacked Piers out of anger and frustration when Piers was sleeping? I also have other ways to ruin Piers’s life when he gets out of the hospital. Such as by convincing Raihan that Piers had been cheating on him for a year and that would cause further conflict between them, or perhaps further ruin Piers’s life by having Piers catch Raihan ‘cheating’ on him. Or better yet, make Piers feel so betrayed by Raihan that he has no choice but to break up with him. After all, Piers has only ever wanted a relationship where his lover won’t use him for his fame or body. If I can get a hold of the account information for the last social media that Raihan has left, I could frame Raihan and make it look like Raihan has secretly been using Piers for his fame this entire time and then I could pretend to have just so happened to see when that post was sent; then I could go to Piers and show him the post, acting like I felt really bad about having to tell him the ‘news’ that Raihan’s been using him this entire time.” To say the least, something about Rose’s eerily calm expression was chilling as Rose gave a simple small yet chilling smile as he looked at Leon calmly. “Well, if you wish to further ruin Piers’s life by framing Raihan, then so be it. Just don’t let Raihan catch onto what you’re doing, Leon. But, I’m sure we can come to an agreement for going about getting these plans you have come up with be finished, Leon. For now, I do have paperwork I have to get back to working on, so, for the time being, you are dismissed.” Leon simply nodded in response. “Yes, Chairman.” Leon then got up from his seat, leaving the room and closing the door behind him. This however, was only the beginning of what Leon had planned for both Piers and Raihan.

————

First Chapter: https://pokemon-swsh-bartender-au-crew.tumblr.com/post/616794959808479232/warning-this-story-overall-contains-topics-of

Previous Chapter: https://pokemon-swsh-bartender-au-crew.tumblr.com/post/618116164773625856/heavy-heart-heavy-soul-chapter

Next Chapter: https://pokemon-swsh-bartender-au-crew.tumblr.com/post/622279432353267712/heavy-heart-heavy-soul-chapter

#swsh #fanfic #fanfiction #punkdragon #punkdragonshipping #pokemon swsh #raihan x piers #champion leon #marnie #sword #shield #depression #heavy heart heavy soul #Piers #Raihan #Leon #Rose #heavy heart heavy soul fanfic

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thelonelymonths · 5 years ago

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This is a written adaptation of my “It Was The Best Of Times, It Was The Worst Of Knees” speech.

“Snap, crackle, and pop” are usually the sounds associated with Rice Krispies. However, it is also the sound my knees make and will make forever. I suffer from two separate things wrong with my knees, creating issues for which I have to go to physical therapy. Basically, my knees aren’t good and they will never be good again.

I have, but do not yet suffer from, Chondromalacia Patellae. If you’re like me, you’re probably thinking “yep, those are words,” which are real words I said, out loud, to the doctor who gave me the diagnosis. This is a condition where the cartilage under your kneecap is soft. It’s not supposed to be. When the cartilage under the kneecap is smooth and hard, extending a leg is no problem. Whereas, when the cartilage is soft, it moves around in the grooves in the kneecap and makes for an uncomfortable and LOUD experience when extending a leg. I personally find this the worst when I ascend or descend stairs.

This condition is accompanied by the fact that my knees are misaligned and go more inwards than they’re supposed to. It is commonly referred to as “knock knees,” but the notes my doctor gave me name it Lateral Patellar Compression Syndrome. This puts stress on the knees and can cause hip and ankle pain, as well as causing stiff joints. The opposite of this would be bow-legged, where the knees go more outwards than they’re supposed to. Either way, my hips and knees are constantly cracking and I have to stretch frequently. Whenever I stand up or move the lower half of my body, I sound like a glow stick.

I tried putting off getting my knees checked out for a couple of months, but eventually the feeling was super annoying. I started noticing the awfulness around Thanksgiving when I was walking down the stairs at my uncle’s house and HEARD the crunching sound and felt it slightly in my knee. I thought it was weird but hoped it would go away. Obviously it didn’t. Eventually in late January, I sent a video to my mom of me walking up the stairs in my building with my cellphone mic right next to my knee so she could hear it and asked, “does this sound weird? And should i get it checked out?” For some background, my mother is a nurse and has been for quite some time, so of course she said yes.

The doctor with whom I booked an appointment was super cool. While there, I got a couple X-Rays done of my knees. He told me what was up and what I’m going to have to do. Unfortunately, it’s not gonna go away and it will start being more noticeable in my other knee. He then wrote me a prescription for physical therapy and off we were to the next step.

It took me about a month to get to a physical therapist and during the first meeting with him, he told me about the other issue, the knock knees. We worked to find exercises that I could do both during PT and at home. They were pretty simple and the first meeting was mostly just him showing me proper technique so I didn’t get myself even more messed up doing something incorrectly. The next couple meetings worked me so hard that I was actually sweating during the last one.

My favorite part always came at the end, though I haven’t been in two months because of the pandemic. They get to stick things on the sides of my knee and give it a nice electroshock therapy. It goes for 10 minutes and they give me the remote to control the voltage. I think the highest voltage I’d set was 14.5. This helps to stimulate the muscles, which makes it a bit tired afterwards, but I enjoy the feeling and it does help.

Going to physical therapy for my knee issues has kept the pain down, but I need to keep up on my exercises, because building up muscles around my knees and hips will help realign them and act as a sort of cushion, therefore alleviating pain I’ll get in the future and maybe making them quieter.

My knees will never be good again, but through hard work I can make them not the worst. Chondromalacia Patellae and Lateral Patellar Compression Syndrome are the bane of my existence and I have to remember to exercise caution in my daily life.

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daydreamindollie · 6 years ago

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bts ot7 | Home

Fragments Series: Just another incomplete written piece/plan/idea - not edited, not proofread, just raw writing w/ my notes

A/N: I wrote a bit of this while I was on holiday two years ago, I think. I really wanted to write my own hybrid au for BTS after being inspired by so many other writers out there, mainly @hollyhomburg , @magicalsalamander , @chimkookie , @daydream-hobii and SOOOO MUCH MOOORREEE! There are just so many talented people out there! Anyway, as this was written two years ago and I hadn’t looked at it since, please excuse any grammatical errors or just any errors really; back then, I tried to write better than I actually could so I’m sure many of the sentences are long-winded. But...yeah! The inspiration was there but without a proper plan, my vision wasn’t steady enough to maintain and just collapsed so...*sigh* another one for the fragments series, I guess...

WARNING: these may contain some of my notes, they will be indented and in italics so you can distinguish them from the writing.

Also, this may contain some prejudicial views and minor conflicts, nothing major but just so you are all aware x

✚ ✚ ✚

Never Before had you felt so excited to reach your journey’s destination. Seeing as you live almost a full hour away from the city, these time-consuming journies were a normality in your life but they were bearable because you always distracted yourself with music, something to read and would even just watch the scenery run by the car window. All previous times were bearable because distractions always held your attention with a vice grip and iron fist, not on this particular day, however.

Today, you would get your first ever hybrid.

You had begged your parents multiple times promising that you’d be responsible for them and that you would take care of them and love them with all your heart. Eventually, they grew convinced and launched at your rambling plea for one such companion.

“You can go get one tomorrow - heck get multiple! I know how lonely it gets here and we don’t want our hybrid to grow bored of you being its only other companion,” your father joked as you squealed with happiness and jumped into his arms, too happy over the long-awaited agreement.

Your parents could never say no to you for long, these were one of the times where they had tried to put their foot down, knowing the true requirements needed to own a hybrid. Deep down, however, they’d always given in because they loved spoiling their only, oh-so-precious daughter. If you asked for the world, there isn’t a doubt in their mind that they’d still say yes, after all, they have an immeasurable amount of money to spare and with such an amount they already had the world in their palms anyway.

Months of convincing and pleading has brought you to this moment of ultimate concentration and anticipation for one thing - a person’s incomparable and irreplaceable companion - a hybrid.

Even before your father’s agreement, you had long debated over the type of hybrid you’d prefer to have above all else. //You didn’t want the typical cat and dog, although that would be a rather tame decision, seeing as this would be your first ever hybrid and more information was available for them. //Maybe a bunny, the hybrid’s counterparts were always very endearing with their large doe eyes and extremely petite physique but hybrid-wise, that meant that they looked a lot like children and - you assume - would behave a lot like them too. Taking care of a child, although you’re very fond of them, isn’t something you wanna sign yourself up for just yet. In your head, you imagine a scenario where you’re able to chat and do fun activities with your hybrid like making up silly dances ti your favourite songs. There’s not a chance on this earth that you can do that with an exotic fish hybrid, they usually had fishtails instead of legs and looked very mermaid-like, meaning that only the richest had them, their mesmerising beauty was always a sight to behold and treasure although, however beautiful they may be, you’d rather be able to interact physically with your hybrid and not just stare at it. A peacock? you heard how high maintenance they were (alongside foxes) due to their animalistic traits coming ever so naturally to them/their counterparts not being usual house pets and therefore requiring more attention than usual.

All this debating leaves you to wonder over what particular hybrid you’ll end yo choosing and befriending; there’s so much to choose from with pros and cons to each. The idea of even getting one is surreal, there are butterflies exploding with a vivacious flurry within the depths of your stomach constantly, surprisingly able to lift the weight of your precious meal on their frail wings and leaving you toeing the edge of either anxiety or excitement. The feeling, no matter how confusing its effects may be, is something you welcome with open arms, the way a lover would embrace the flaws that were responsible for their partner’s perfection.

Throughout the lengthy travel, your nerves were itchy with impatience, which made your contemplation of the journey being shorter than expected after finally arriving, all the more peculiar. Your mind certainly has a distinct thought process in comparison to actual logic. Despite all that, it seems as though all of your previous excitement has been completely overtaken by an overwhelming sense of nervousness when facing the hybrid adoption centre.

It was a powerful-looking edifice, tall and broad, harbouring an abundance of rooms with a similar amount of occupants. Amoung those many rooms, lies your future companion and longtime friend. It’s a heart-thumping prospect, so why were you so antsy?

“Will they like me?” you hum thoughtfully to yourself, voice shaky and uneven with stress. This was your oppressing problem. You’re certain that you’ll find someone you’ll like but will they like you back? And even if they don’t, will you bring them home with you anyway? Just to know them better and have them eventually take a liking to you, perhaps? But what if they never grow fond of you? You can’t just ‘return‘ them, that’s absurd and so inhumane, it’s degrading; they can feel emotions more prominently than normal animals because they’re part human and vice versa. Your morals scream that you just can’t do that to a person.

Your stuttering thoughts should have deemed your form motionless but your body moved on its own as if one autopilot from your subconscious. You’re lead through the main doors, across the foyer and right to the front desk, where the lady behind the computer asked however she could help you.

“Um, I’m looking to adopt today,” you stated surprised at how reasonably steady your voice sounded.

“Do you have an appointment ma’am?”

“Sorry, no,” you pull a face of guilt, mentally shaming yourself for being unprepared.

“That’s alright! Do you have a particular type of hybrid in mind?”

“You shook your head ‘no’, “I’ve debated but I’m still very indecisive,” chuckling, the lady smiles up at you.

“Don’t worry miss, that’s usually the case. Is this your first adoption?” her hazel eyes blink curiously at you.

“Is it that obvious?” you muse nervously as you fiddle and fidget with your fingers.

“Don’t worry it’s only because I work here that it is,” she assures before typing away momentarily, only beginning to reach over to the phone beside her to look up at you again, “please take a seat while I get someone to help show you around,“

Nodding with a sheepish smile, you gingerly take a seat, smoothing down the lap of your pleated skirt before taking the time to observe the facility. On the far left, there was a large door labelled with a metal plate ‘NURSERY’, where you imagine the newly borns are kept and goo at the idea. To the right, there seems to be a very spacious room filled with many pastime activities such as sports balls (footballs and basketballs), skipping ropes, books, a TV and probably more things as your view was rather restricted even though the doors were glass. Behind and to the right of the front desk, is another door that states ‘ROOMS’, which is pretty self-explanatory to you but also sets your nerves ablaze with spine-tingling anticipation with what’s to come.

Inhaling a deep breath, you attempt to calm and tame your nerves as you pivot from where you’re seated, wanting to explore more of the place without having to walk around. You weren’t really expecting anything more but right behind you stood a tall black door. It seemed to hold secrets that begged you to unveil them.

The amount of time you spent staring at the barrier that held back any number of malicious or wonderful secrets was unknown but your gaze was foxed for long enough that your feet began to move on their own again. Soon enough, you were making your way down a dimly lit staircase to find a room occupied by several - more specifically seven - hybrids. There was: a cat, two dogs, a peacock, a fox, a fish and a bunny-rabbit?

You tilt your head and shyly wave your hand, your head slightly bowed in timidity, showcasing your bashful demeanour whilst also allowing your eyes to stare at them in wondrous fascination. This was your first time ever seeing a hybrid in person and there were seven right in front of you. //“Hello,” you whisper, meeting the gaze of the only cat who hisses in warning at you, causing you to jump in place, your heart ready to fly out of your chest. You felt the nerves in your body preparing to run if need be but they instantly calmed at the sight of the bunny. As opposed to the pierce almond-eyed cat, the bunny appeared to reflect your anxiety, it was an endearing sight, but he was also beautiful, as a matter of fact, all of the hybrids present were ethereal in beauty.

The peacock in your peripheral view was especially so, you felt as though he could resemble a prince from a fairytale, even so, the bunny had your full attention. He was nothing like a child as most should look like, he possessed the build of a male with thick thigh muscles, which was probably due to his bunny genes but it was still unusual (in a good way) to see a different beauty representing bunny hybrids.

“What’s your name?” you ask after reaching the cage bars, eyes caring and warm and unable to hold back your elation. He gave no answer, only a frightened stare, making you furrow your brows. “What’s the matter? Don’t you have one?” you gently press for a response, eyes pleading for him to speak.

“I’ve...I’ve never been adopted before...” he finally speaks, his voice like a finely tuned harp, having all things that leave his lips be melodious and musical.

Your eyes widen in surprise, “but you're so beautiful...” you whisper to yourself, smiling fondly when you see a faint blush dusting his cheeks, “maybe you can finally have one if you agree to come home with me,” the instant those words left your lips, the other hybrids, who were looking on at your interaction cautiously, panicked. The peacock and dog shielded the bunny with their bodies as the other pup and the fox embraced him, leaving you to jump at the cat’s loud hissing as the fish banged a tight fist at his tank’s wall. //’Why were they being so protective?’ you ponder, not realising that the cat was reaching for you, past the bars of the cage, with his sharp nails drawn and bare, ready to strike. Just as he was about to claw at your face, a hand grabbed your upper arm and pulled you back.

“Miss, you shouldn’t be down here!” a man with woodchip hair warns, drawing a taser from his back pocket and going for the cat, which you screamed at.

“What are you doing?!” you snatch his arm back, expression scrunched up in worry and anger.

“This lowlife was going to attack you, ma’am,” he reasons, brows knitted together with confusion.

“Lowlife?...”

“yes ma’am - was going to attack you, a human,”

“I don’t care about that, I must’ve done something wrong in his eyes. I’m sure it was pure instinct for him to lash out,”

“But-”

“if you’re so concerned about them behaving ‘improperly‘, why don’t you teach them by being civil yourself and lead by example,” you huff, “people behave by copying others’ actions, don’t ya know?” you can’t believe how angry you’ve become since you only ever use shortened expressions when your temper was truly pronounced.

“Ma'am, you really shouldn’t be here,” he warns, finally tucking away his taser, consequently calming your nerves, something all hybrids picked up on and raised a curious brow at after calming down themselves.

“I know I’m not, I’m sorry for wandering off without fair warning or reason,” you try to be civil but your curiosity is peaked, “but can I ask ‘why‘ I’m not allowed here?”

“Simply put, it’s too dangerous down here ma’am...” you note how his voice wavers and his eyes are restlessly examining the room, not keeping eye contact with you for too long.

“Dangerous?...” you turn to the hybrids with worried eyes, an expression they were unfamiliar with and don’t quite know how to interpret, “why are these hybrids here then?“

“Ma’am,” the worker hesitates, “these hybrids are the reason why it’s so dangerous,”

“I...I don’t understand...” you mutter, unable to comprehend how people with such sad, gentle eyes could harbour such a threat. The employee with the taser is more threatening to you.

“We should really get you upstairs now ma’am. I can show you to the hybrids that you will definitely favour,” he puts on a weak smile as he attempts to lead you up the stairs behind you, only to falter in his steps when you abruptly pull away and step towards the cages once more, dismissing the worried gaze the male flashes you.

“I’ve already made my decision though, so I won’t need to go upstairs,” all eyes in the room visibly widen at your proclamation as you smile in innocent excitement.

“Who?!”

“The bunny please, if he’”s alright to go with me, that is,” you give the bunny a timid smile, staring into his large doe eyes as you try to tame the butterflies in your stomach.

“I’m afraid that’s impossible ma’am,”

You pout, “and why’s that?” your tone is stern but also childish in some way, much like how a child would deliver demands during a strop.

“Well, it’s impossible because if you want one, then you’ll need to adopt all of them.” now, it’s time for your eyes to widen.

“How come?”

“They’ve formed a very peculiar group-pack-alliance,” he sighs as you take a moment to look at the seven hybrids together, it was definitely a strange but lovely picture, “they always cause trouble by lashing out at whoever draws near, especially the cat. Many workers have quit from needing to go have some treatment done on scratches from him. This is why it’“s so dangerous here, they may look harmless but they can really hurt you, and it’s extremely expensive to adopt all seven. I, along with the rest of my coworkers, strongly advise that you don’t even think of adopting any from this group.”

You ponder for a moment, contemplating all your options as you stare at all seven hybrids collectively, “There’s no other way for me to bring the bunny home?”

“I’m sorry but no,” he says sternly, “please, just let me take you upstairs ma’am,”

“Is it possible for me to come here at a regular basis?” you turn back to him, having completely ignored his advice, “So that I can befriend them all before taking them home with me?”

The worker’s jaw drops, “you actually want to adopt all of them?”

Facing all hybrids, you smile, eyes sparkling, “why not?”

[MAYBE END OF CHPT.ONE?????START CHPT.TWO???⇣]

Yet again, you find yourself taking another long journey to the hybrid adoption centre, giddy with butterflies after a long week of waiting. It would have been easy for you to take the journey every day but you knew how high gas prices were and didn’t want to trouble your parents in spite of knowing their wealth. You were also adamant in being eco-friendly.

In your hands, you fiddly with the wrap of a large bento box, there were six others surrounding you filled with homecooked meals that you’ve put your heart and soul into. Hopefully, they’ll like what you’ve cooked; you did your best to research what particular hybrids liked. Bunnies loved carrot cake, cats like friend fish, dogs loved meat, foxes too, fish liked anything with bread and peacocks were very fancy with exotic fruits and such. It was a lot of fun to make but you also wanted to introduce them to other foods too. Most of the dishes were advised from the website most prominent in providing hybrid care information but you also included your favourite dishes, hoping to bond with them over something you liked similarly.

“Good morning!” you greet the secretary, flashing a peppy smile which she returns hesitantly, eyes hovering over the bentos that were piled high in your arms, “I hope this is okay,“ you lift the lunches before quickly making your way down to the basement, too blinded by the excitement of finally making your own friends to notice that the secretary had just begun to protest, only to face the slam of a door.

“I’m back!” you announce, giggling as you finally make it down the last step, “And I’ve brought lunches!“ again, you lift the bentos with a huff from their weight before setting them down. Facing up, you quickly note the surprised look all hybrids harboured just as you were about to ask what was wrong, your bunny spoke up.

“You came back...” his eyes were wide and his form rigged, completely unbelieving of the fact that you had returned.

“Of course I came back. I said that I would sooooo...here I am!” you gesture to yourself with a glint of mischief in your eyes, “Anyway, are you guys hungry? I made lunch,”

“We’re not hungry,” the cat snapped stubbornly from the back of the room, black ears and tail flicking in annoyance.

[MAYBE REAL END OF CHAPTER ONE????]

please remember that this is, unfortunately, not going to be continued as it is a part of my ‘Fragments’ Series, where I just post works that I have discontinued, maybe still in its drafting/notes-infused stage. I know it might seem like a pointless series but I’m proud of all my works and love to share more than I should.

#bts hybrid au #bts x reader #DRAFT

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timelock97 · 5 years ago

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Love Without A Name

Chapter One: A Ring, A Big Decision

Word Count: 3651

Masterlist

Warnings: Language

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If anyone had told me that only two weeks after my first consultation at Heart Haven that I would have a possible match, I wouldn't have believed them. It took Hazel spamming my phone with calls and texts earlier that week that I finally decided to make the appointment to start the process, take a leap of faith and trust them.

She had practically skipped down the hall when I walked through the front door of the building, a smile spread wide across her face. "You'll really like him, believe me." She called down the hallway as I made my way toward her and followed her to our usual room for the appointment, and she did not disappoint.

It had been a little over a year since starting the process, and I was completely smitten for the stranger on the other side of the screen. Dating had failed him too, most of the girls he had tried to date had wanted him for one thing or another, some things he simply wasn't allowed, nor wanted, to share. He was kind, caring, and more. His family was a big thing in his life, he had a passion for his work, and in all honesty probably had a heart of gold from what he had done for charity. He loved animals, loved spending time with friends, enjoyed having a good laugh, and so much more that made this faceless stranger more attractive. Most importantly, he was looking for someone to start a life with, and he was hoping that would eventually be me.

The most interesting part of Heart Haven's process was their way of allowing their clients to be in contact with their significant other. They don't want you to fall in love with their looks, they want their clients to fall for who they really are. In the beginning, we had to compile a large amount of information, stuff that wouldn't give enough away for them to look you up online. After a while, we were allowed to "talk" to one another, with the rules of not giving out any personal information, not even our name. The two of us would talk during sessions when we could, usually through a questionnaire, which was annoying in the beginning. Once we had gotten passed the 'boring' stuff, we were able to learn more personal things about each other. This information was recorded and typed out for the other's convenience, and still included the playful banter between his counselor and himself, like: "What side of the bed do you sleep on?: Wherever I end up falling on at the end of the day? Mate, I literally share a bed with [dog's name], I get whatever she will allow."

Eventually we were allowed to download the company's app to keep in contact with him while at home. This particular app made sure to black out any personal info that shouldn't be shared with the other, which always made for a lot of gaps in our conversations.

-----

Him

Work has been tiring, to be honest. I've been _______ for the past few weeks, working on ________. Can't tell you what it is of course. How has work been for you, love?

Her

I hope it lets up soon, give you a break. Work has been good! ______________________, I really need to get out of the house though. Gonna go visit my family this weekend, maybe even take ___________ with me.

Him

You know, I can't wait until we can read through our text messages without having most of it blacked out. I cannot wait to meet you, love. I'm more than ready to give you all my love.

Her

Well, none of that was blacked out, handsome. And I couldn't agree more. <3

-----

As time went on, the anticipation to meet the man on the other side of the screen was starting to drive me completely insane. I had been more than tempted to ask Sam or Carly about it, but Sam had moved recently for work and Carly was getting ready to have a baby, so that really didn't work too well. It took a lot of time to finally discuss it with Hazel, honestly hoping that she would bring it up herself; but, after hitting the fifteen-month mark, I decided nothing would get done unless I brought it up. Hazel agreed to talk about it the following appointment, but from what I could tell, she was nervous to tell me. And now, I knew why.

"He lives in the UK." Hazel states, folding her hands over the table, her white, blonde curls falling over her shoulders as she leaned forward. "That's why we haven't sent you two out to meet each other in person yet."

I stare at her in disbelief before rubbing my hands over my face, fingers pushing the falling strands of hair back behind my ear as I finally meet her icy blue gaze. "He lives in England; he doesn't even live in the damn country. Hazel,-"

"We have our sister companies across the world, and after some comparison we realized that you two would make a perfect couple," she cuts me off, turning her screen to show off the stats. "It's our job to find the perfect to close-to-perfect matches-"

"What does that mean for the two of us then?" I state, looking at her in fear. "We have been going through this for months, Hazel!"

"Does the fact that he lives in another country change the way you feel about him-"

"No-"

"Then why is it a problem?" She leans back into her hair, watching my every move.

"How would a proper relationship work? We can't even date normally." My mind wanders and the black silhouetted figure that held the place in my daydreams of a life with a man I have been falling in love with, it seems so far away now. No first date where he smiles so brightly at me because, well, it's finally me. No introducing him to my parents, brothers, or friends. No nothing. I wanted this, I wanted to be with him. The thought of starting over felt like I had thrown so much time down the toilet.

"(Y/N), look at me." My eyes lift from my folded hands back to her face, where she is wearing a sympathetic smile. "We thought this through already. He wants to meet you!"

"Hazel-"

"Nope, let me finish." She puts a hand up, "He was just as upset as you in finding out-"

"He knew already?" My eyebrows pinch together in confusion.

She nods, "He wasn't allowed to share that he knew." She refolds her hands before continuing, "I have been talking to his counselor, and him and I came up with an idea. One that could allow you to be together sooner." She sighs, nails tapping on her desk. "However, it'll be a big step for the two of you."

"You sound like you're about to tell me we have to get married." A laugh slips past my lips, looking at her in disbelief. No way in hell is she about to tell me that I have to get married to him before we even meet properly.

"Actually," Hazel pushes away from her desk and walks over to a filing cabinet on the other side of the small room. Unlocking it, she reaches inside the third drawer before closing it and walking back to the desk. "That is exactly what we were thinking." She sets a small, blue velvet box on the table and slides it toward me as she perches herself on top of her desk. "It's all up to you, he had his counselor send this over a few weeks ago after being told of the plan."

I look at her in disbelief. My hand moves from its place in my lap to slowly take the box off the table. With shaky hands, I open it to see a diamond ring. It's not a large ring, a circular stone set in a rose gold braided band. It's simple, but elegant, and picked especially by a man who loves me just as much as I love him.

"He told his counselor that he knows that it is a big step, but he's more than willing if it means spending the rest of his life with you." In other words, he wants to marry you, even though he has no clue what you look like, or act like in person. "We can talk more about it at your next session if you would like. He will be back home by then, then we can all talk as a group and see what we want to do, yeah?"

I nod absentmindedly, eyes never leaving the ring set on my palm, "Yeah that- that's fine."

"Do you wanna take that home with you?"

My eyes snap up to meet hers, she laughs as I look at her in disbelief, "You seriously trust me not to lose it?"

"No, but I know that something that special is gonna be on your mind; you'll want it." Hazel stands from her relaxed position waiting beside her desk for me to get my bearings to walk out of her office and into the waiting room, the ring box still held tightly to my palm. "I will see you next week, Monday remember?"

Nodding, I give her a small smile. "Yeah, I'll see you then." My sneakers thump softly against the hardwood floor as I walk. I grab my wool coat and scarf before opening the heavy door, being met with the cold January air. Carefully walking down the icy steps, I make my way down the street to the parking structure. It doesn't take too long to walk past the guards at the gate and inside. Once settled into the small SUV, I pull the box out from its place in my pocket. Opening the small box again, I admire the ring, nervously taking it out of the box and moving it around in the dim light of the car. Biting my lip, I slip it onto my ring finger. The perfect fit, he really had you in mind when picking it.

Sugarland's Stuck Like Glue blaring from my phone speaker causes me to jump, the ring box falling into the cup holder between the seats as I reach across the middle console to dig for it inside my bag. Once in hand, I notice the name illuminating the screen, Celine Turner, one of your very best friends. "Hello, this is (Y/N)."

"I know it's you, dipshit, I called you." Her voice carries through the speaker, attitude dripping off of her tongue.

"Sorry," I chuckle into the receiver leaning my head back against the headrest, "Force of habit. What's up?"

"I need a girl's night, can I come over? I'll pick up food, and I have some Marvel movies in my bag I think-"

"If you don't, I do, and yeah, that'd be great. I actually need someone to talk to. I'm not home, but should be in an hour-"

"I thought you got out of work at four on Fridays?"

"I do, I, uh," I scratch my head before placing my keys into the ignition, "had an appointment."

She doesn't speak for a minute, "If you were at the gyno you can tell me, I'm not gonna judge-"

"No, I didn't go visit my lady doctor. You have a key, I'll see you at seven, okay?"

"Cool, oh, by the way, I'm spending the night and I have alcohol too. See you soon!"

The sound of her hanging up causes a soft laugh to fall past my lips, rolling my eyes at her antics. I buckle up after discarding my phone back into the bag sitting in the passenger seat before backing out of the spot and heading over to the exit. Waving to the guard again, I turn back onto the street and head to the highway. The ring on your left hand sparkling in the passing street lights.

When I finally pull up to the apartment building, I take the time to suck in a deep breath and place the ring back inside the box before hiding it into my bag. Doing some last-minute double checking, I make my way inside the building, locking the car behind me.

Two flights of stairs and a fight with the sticky lock to get into the apartment later, I finally make it inside. The sound of Thor: Ragnarok playing from the living room and the smell of Mexican from the little place in town immediately brings a smile to my face. Phoebe launches herself off the couch, where she had been curled up in Celine's lap, and makes her way towards the front door, meowing loudly and rubbing herself against my legs as I lean down to scoop her into my arms.

"Yo! I have our feast over here when you're ready to start. Go get comfy and we can get started!"

"It looks like you got started without me, dude-"

"I was hungry!" She laughs, taking a sip of her wine.

Rolling my eyes, I make my way to my room, tossing Phoebe on my bed before stripping and redressing in a pair of navy sweatpants and a black tank top. Phoebe bounds behind me as I make my way back into the living room and plop down on the couch next to Celine. "Thanks for picking up food, what's the occasion?"

Celine fiddles with her fork, not meeting my gaze, "Uh, I had a date, but he stood me up-"

"That asshole!" I yell, watching as she begins to giggle, the main reason for the outburst.

"It's okay, I didn't think it would go anywhere anyways. He was an idiot, and he likes the opposing football team."

"Damn, well, he wasn't worth it." I state, taking a bite of my food. The two of us eat in silent for a few minutes before she speaks up again.

"What about you? Any guys you have an eye on? You haven't really talked about guys with me for a while."

I shrug, deciding it was time I told someone about my little problem besides Sam, who at this point hadn't talked to me in about six months. "Um, no dates as of late. Been talking with someone though-"

"You have been holding out on me! (Y/N)!" She pushes my arm, nearly knocking my food out of my hands, causing a squeak to leave my barely parted lips.

I set the plate down glaring playfully at her as she laughs, making me bark out a laugh and playfully fighting back now that there would be nothing to stain my carpet. "Well I wanted to wait until I had a name to tell you about it!"

She stops fighting back, a look of confusion crossing her face, "What do you mean you were waiting till you had a name? You don't know his name?"

No turning back now. "Uh, yeah, I don't know his name-"

"How? How long have you two been talking?"

I fiddle with my fingers, looking at her softly out of the corner of my eye. "Over a year-"

"Over a year! (Y/N), you should know his name by now, why on Earth do you not know?!"

"Because that's how Heart Haven works, Celine." I bury your face in your hands, suddenly feeling embarrassed that I had kept this from her, and more importantly everyone else. When she doesn't speak up, you continue. "Look, no one knows. Remember Sam Simmons? From the bar?" I watch as she nods, eyebrow raised in curiosity. "She ended up telling me about this matchmaking service and I was like 'what the hell, what could go wrong," and, I actually met someone." My lips curl into a love-sick smile, man I had it bad for him. "He's amazing, everything I thought I wanted in a man and more. I mean, he has his flaws, who doesn't? I really really like him. We talk a lot, for over a year now-"

"How long, exactly?"

"Uh, a year and two-ish months?"

"And I'm the first to know?"

I nod my head, hair falling into my eyes. "It's kind of embarrassing having to tell people 'yeah, I'm taken but I have no clue what he looks like, sounds like, or what his name is.'"

Celine moves so that one leg is tucked underneath her while the other hangs off the couch. "Are you going to meet him soon?"

"I want to, but here's the problem, he doesn't live here-"

"Then let's get in the car and take a road trip!" She throws her arms into the air, grabbing her phone, "I can call into work and we can leave tomorrow morning-"

"Celine, it would be more like getting a passport and catching a plane."

She shifts so that she is closer, her eyebrows furrowed together. "He doesn't live in the country? Then where does he live?"

"England." Celine leans into the couch more, shutting her eyes. She opens and closes her mouth trying to find the right words. "I found out today, and it turns out that he's known for a while."

"If he knew why didn't he tell you? Wait, are you two like actually talking talking?"

"We text, it's a weird app that we text from that blocks out personal info if we type it out. I can show you-"

"Yeah, that might be good." She states, "And grab the wine bottle, I think we are gonna need it!"

I roll my eyes while retrieving the phone, along with the ring box which gets slid into my sweatpants pocket, and the wine. Handing her the phone, she swipes out the password and smiles, seeing that the app had been left open. Her face continues to hold a soft smile, that slowly gets bigger as she reads through the messages.

"It looks like you two know a lot about each other, and he sounds like he loves you." She smiles brightly, turning my phone in her hand to show me the screen, "Also, can we talk about the fact that he calls you 'love'?" She places her hand that is still holding the phone to her chest, sniffing before wiping a fake tear away. "That is so fucking precious."

"Yeah, he's been busy so we haven't talked much in the past few days. He keeps up with it though."

"Now I wanna meet him, gotta make sure he's perfect for you-"

"Dude, I have to meet him first, and uh, I got some news about meeting him today, actually-"

"Yes! Get on that plane! Meet your man! Be happy-"

"It's more complicated than that, Cel."

She shifts on the couch before handing back my phone. "Yeah, I guess long distance would be kinda shitty-"

"He's ready to start a life with me-" I hint.

"You're ready to start a life with him, so why are you fighting it-"

"Celine, he asked me to marry him."

Celine stops her excited rambling. She stares at me, dumbfounded. "I'm sorry, I think I heard you wrong. Did you say that he asked you to marry him?" I nod. "When did he ask you?!"

Sighing, I fish out the box from inside my sweatpants pocket, holding it out to her to take. "He decided a few weeks ago when his counselor told him of the potential plan, he bought a ring and sent it to me through the company." Celine grabs the box and opens it, eyes going wide and mouth falling open wider. "I think he was waiting for them to tell me about him not living in the country. Simply because it'll be a huge decision-"

"You'd probably go with him back to England?"

"I don't know!" I run a hand through my hair, "Nothing has been discussed. Hazel just told me to think about it and that he would be back on Monday so we could all talk together, and I don't know what I'm going to do. All I know is that I want to be with him."

"Then I think you have already made your decision-"

"But I don't know what the consequences will be!" I throw my hands up in the air in annoyance. Why couldn't this just be simpler. "I have spent so much time finishing school, finding a job, trying to find love and now that I think I have it, it's so far away. What will my family say, or my friends, the people from school-"

"(Y/N), you need to stop thinking about what others will think and be selfish for once. You are always giving back, doing things for others. Hell, you help people for a fucking living." She pauses to take my hands in hers, placing the ring box between us. Her voice softens, "You love him, so what if people don't approve. If you're happy, those people will eventually come around. Furthermore, I'm sure he feels the same. Now," she reaches between us to grab the box, placing it in my hands, "without thinking about it, what are you going to do?"

I pop open the box, taking the ring out and pinching it between my fingers. He picked that for you, and no one else. I slide the ring onto my finger, where it already feels natural to be. "I think I'm gonna marry him."

"Good, glad we got that settled. Now," Celine claps her hands together before reaching for something on the table. "Do you wanna watch Captain Marvel or Iron Man 3?"

I laugh and shake my head as she stands to change the movie, thankful to have that off my chest, and feeling like I was on cloud nine. I'm getting married. Soon, I'll be meeting the man behind the screen.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thanks for reading! Updates will be every Sunday and Thursday! Let me know what you think! Reblog and comment!

Chapter Two

#cg writes #love without a name #tom holland x reader #tom holland fanfiction #strangers to lovers #arranged marriage #husband!tomholland

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dailybiblelessons · 5 years ago

Text

Tuesday: Reflection on the Eighteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Revised Common Lectionary Proper 13 Roman Catholic Proper 18

Complementary Hebrew Scripture from the Writings: Ecclesiastes 3:16—4:8

Moreover I saw under the sun that in the place of justice, wickedness was there, and in the place of righteousness, wickedness was there as well. I said in my heart, God will judge the righteous and the wicked, for he has appointed a time for every matter, and for every work. I said in my heart with regard to human beings that God is testing them to show that they are but animals. For the fate of humans and the fate of animals is the same; as one dies, so dies the other. They all have the same breath, and humans have no advantage over the animals; for all is vanity. All go to one place; all are from the dust, and all turn to dust again. Who knows whether the human spirit goes upward and the spirit of animals goes downward to the earth? So I saw that there is nothing better than that all should enjoy their work, for that is their lot; who can bring them to see what will be after them?

Again I saw all the oppressions that are practiced under the sun. Look, the tears of the oppressed—with no one to comfort them! On the side of their oppressors there was power—with no one to comfort them. And I thought the dead, who have already died, more fortunate than the living, who are still alive; but better than both is the one who has not yet been, and has not seen the evil deeds that are done under the sun.

Then I saw that all toil and all skill in work come from one person's envy of another. This also is vanity and a chasing after wind.

Fools fold their hands and consume their own flesh. Better is a handful with quiet than two handfuls with toil, and a chasing after wind.

Again, I saw vanity under the sun: the case of solitary individuals, without sons or brothers; yet there is no end to all their toil, and their eyes are never satisfied with riches. “For whom am I toiling,” they ask, “and depriving myself of pleasure?” This also is vanity and an unhappy business.

Semi-continuous Hebrew Scripture Lesson from The Twelve Prophets: Hosea 13:1-16

When Ephraim spoke, there was trembling; he was exalted in Israel; but he incurred guilt through Baal and died. And now they keep on sinning and make a cast image for themselves, idols of silver made according to their understanding, all of them the work of artisans. “Sacrifice to these,” they say. People are kissing calves! Therefore they shall be like the morning mist or like the dew that goes away early, like chaff that swirls from the threshing floor or like smoke from a window.

Yet I have been the Lord your God ever since the land of Egypt; you know no God but me, and besides me there is no savior. It was I who fed you in the wilderness, in the land of drought. When I fed them, they were satisfied; they were satisfied, and their heart was proud; therefore they forgot me. So I will become like a lion to them, like a leopard I will lurk beside the way. I will fall upon them like a bear robbed of her cubs, and will tear open the covering of their heart; there I will devour them like a lion, as a wild animal would mangle them.

I will destroy you, O Israel; who can help you? Where now is your king, that he may save you? Where in all your cities are your rulers, of whom you said, “Give me a king and rulers”? I gave you a king in my anger, and I took him away in my wrath.

Ephraim's iniquity is bound up; his sin is kept in store. The pangs of childbirth come for him, but he is an unwise son; for at the proper time he does not present himself at the mouth of the womb. Shall I ransom them from the power of Sheol? Shall I redeem them from Death? O Death, where are your plagues? O Sheol, where is your destruction?¹ Compassion is hidden from my eyes.

Although he may flourish among rushes, the east wind shall come,a blast from the Lord, rising from the wilderness; and his fountain shall dry up, his spring shall be parched. It shall strip his treasury of every precious thing. Samaria shall bear her guilt, because she has rebelled against her God; they shall fall by the sword, their little ones shall be dashed in pieces, and their pregnant women ripped open.

¹Paul quotes a form of this when he discusses what will happen when we become immortal in the afterlife. (1 Corinthians 15:54-57.

Complementary Psalm 127

Unless the Lord builds the house, those who build it labor in vain. Unless the Lord guards the city, the guard keeps watch in vain. It is in vain that you rise up early and go late to rest, eating the bread of anxious toil; for he gives sleep to his beloved.

Sons are indeed a heritage from the Lord, the fruit of the womb a reward. Like arrows in the hand of a warrior are the sons of one's youth. Happy is the man who has his quiver full of them. He shall not be put to shame when he speaks with his enemies in the gate.

Semi-continuous Psalm 60

O God, you have rejected us, broken our defenses; you have been angry; now restore us! You have caused the land to quake; you have torn it open; repair the cracks in it, for it is tottering. You have made your people suffer hard things; you have given us wine to drink that made us reel.

You have set up a banner for those who fear you, to rally to it out of bowshot. Give victory with your right hand, and answer us, so that those whom you love may be rescued. God has promised in his sanctuary: “With exultation I will divide up Shechem, and portion out the Vale of Succoth. Gilead is mine, and Manasseh is mine; Ephraim is my helmet; Judah is my scepter. Moab is my washbasin; on Edom I hurl my shoe; over Philistia I shout in triumph.”

Who will bring me to the fortified city? Who will lead me to Edom? Have you not rejected us, O God? You do not go out, O God, with our armies. O grant us help against the foe, for human help is worthless. With God we shall do valiantly; it is he who will tread down our foes.

New Testament Epistle Lesson: Colossians 4:2-6

Devote yourselves to prayer, keeping alert in it with thanksgiving. At the same time pray for us as well that God will open to us a door for the word, that we may declare the mystery of Christ, for which I am in prison, so that I may reveal it clearly, as I should.

Conduct yourselves wisely toward outsiders, making the most of the time. Let your speech always be gracious, seasoned with salt, so that you may know how you ought to answer everyone.

Year C Ordinary 18, RCL Proper 13, Catholic Proper 18 Tuesday

Selections are from Revised Common Lectionary Daily Readings copyright © 1995 by the Consultation on Common Texts. Unless otherwise indicated, Bible text is from New Revised Standard Version Bible (NRSV) copyright © 1989 by the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved. Image Credit: A Man Prays at the Western Wall, Image by David Shankbone, via Wikimedia Commons, licensed under Creative Commons 3.0

#C Ordinary 18 #prayer #gracious speech #enjoying work #punishment for Judah #punishment for #Ephraim

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garryspolicememories · 5 years ago

Photo

This photo was taken of the Warren Detachment in 1970. The Detachment had grown considerably by this time. Constable Erich Weise was missing from the photo as he was at court the day the Sudbury Star took the photo.

Policing Memories of

Garry Crawford Circa 1962

Part VII

In my day any front line OPP member was trained and expected to investigate motor vehicle accidents as assigned or dispatched. It was just another form of investigation and I found it both interesting and fulfilling. The first thing to do was protect the scene and those in it, so it was important where you stopped and to set up warning for oncoming traffic. Then look after the injured, call for backup if available ambulance fire etc.

The challenge was to find the answers to who, where, why and what. We had to establish the drivers by statement, witnesses or observations. We had to establish just where the impact took place, by measurement of skid marks and change thereto, damage, witnesses, debris etc. Establish cause or why. Condition of driver, mechanical, excessive speed, inattentive driving, plus weather, was there an infraction or just plain carelessness. Statements are taken from all witnesses. In civil law at that time you were automatically 25% at fault just to be in an accident. Sometimes that applied criminally too.

One case that comes to mind that happened in Warren Detachment Area, involved a car full of young female basketball players. They were travelling from Sudbury to North Bay and had a flat tire. They changed to their spare tire. Then the driver just pulled onto the highway, he seen an oncoming car and another that pulled out to pass. The driver of the girl’s car exclaimed: “Get back in, I am in the right! “ They collided head on killing the driver and other girls in the front seat. He should have taken evasive action. Just think about it, you are better to hit a rock-cut head-on than another car. The rock-cut is not moving.

It was very important to make clear comprehensive notes, as you may have to testify from them five or ten years down the road. In my time we completed our L.E. 42 traffic reports on the accident when we returned to the detachment.

Police Officers investigating accidents see many horrific scenes. You have to learn to set yourself aside, so you can do what you are trained to do. You do not think that could be a member of my family and if it is you think about what has to be done. DO NOT ASSOCIATE. It is easy to say, but it takes practice to do.

I witnessed many traumatic scenes while I served my time as young constable at Warren and in the following years. I will not mention them, but have a couple in mind that had a good outcome.

The first one concerned a lady from Vermont. I had worked afternoon shift and gone home for the night. Our phone rang at about 2:30 AM. The phone was located on the wall at the bottom of the stairs to our bedroom. It was my practice to kind of come out of the bed horizontal and land on my feet running. It was seldom that I did not get the phone on the second ring. At any rate I answered the phone and the Sudbury dispatcher advised me there was a car accident just east of the east entrance into Markstay on Highway #17.

I rushed upstairs to change and the phone rang again. It was the dispatcher, who advised me that the accident involved a roll over and a woman was pinned in the car. The buttons were lost on my pajamas; I was dressed and on my way. When I arrived at the scene, I found a car upside down in the east bound lane. I parked my cruiser to protect and crawled into the car. The woman was not pinned, but was lying on the roof of the inverted car. I checked her over and found that one foot was cut as if by an axe, from the top through to the bottom about an inch and a half forward of where it joined her leg. Her husband had jammed Kleenex into the wound. I was able to remove the Kleenex and put on a proper dressing. When I removed the Kleenex and the air hit her wound, she screamed and said: Oh my god, say a hail mary! I am protestant, but I said: Hail Mary full of grace and mumbled something. It was just as if I had given her a shot of morphine. She immediately became calm. I finished dressing the wound and left her as she was until an ambulance arrived about 45 minutes later.

As we removed her from the car onto the stretcher, she screamed again and said the same thing. I repeated my best Hail Mary with the same result. Some how the story got out, and I was called: Father Crawford for quite a while. To me this was humorous, but more importantly it did show the power of faith. In my opinion it does not matter what faith you practice. The power is in the actual faith. The good news was they were able to save the lady from Vermont’s foot. She managed her pain, because she had faith.

The second traffic accident that sticks out in my mind was a multiple vehicle pileup that occurred on Highway #17 about one mile west of the Markstay Bridge. This accident was actually in Sudbury Detachment’s area, however I was the closest. On my arrival I found ten vehicles involved with multiple injuries. At that time there were many vehicles that had a hood that opened from the back forward. The first vehicle I came to, a woman was in the passengers seat screaming in terror. I looked over to the driver and realized the hood had come loose as the result of a head-on collision. It had come through the windshield and struck the driver right about the eyebrows. It had completely scalped him with the scalp hanging down the back of his neck. I spoke to the driver’s wife and told her I need your help to help your husband. I had her sit in the back seat behind her husband. I then took my hand and place the scalp back in place. I got his wife to lace the fingers of her hands together and place her entwined hands over the scalp and lean forward. The wife calmed down with a job to do and seem to accept the reality of what had happened. The pressure slowed the bleeding and I moved on to the other injured. I remember their were two serious back injuries as well as several serious cuts in that pile-up but that first one has stuck in my mind all these years. I found out later that all went well with the driver with the scalp injury. I rather enjoyed doing first aid, but it seemed so often we just did not have enough hands to help. I have witnessed several serious accidents since I was off the job. I really appreciate the help the volunteer firemen and paramedics Provide in todays world.

In 1964 I found I was very satisfied and thoroughly enjoyed my work as a young constable. I still had a problem with the accommodation for my family. The house we had bought still only had running water in the kitchen. I met a local Warren contractor named John Raymond. John was an all round tradesman. He would take a contract to build a complete house, from footings to finished cupboards. He told me he had a contract to build a house at Naughton, Ontario and if I were to take my holidays and work with him he would return my work for his.

At that time you had to be very careful about moonlighting or working at a second job. It was grounds for dismissal. This also applied to being too far in debt or carousing with women other than your own.

I was concerned that if I accepted John’s offer, someone would see me and report it to Superintendent Whitehouse. I decided the best way to handle it was to speak to Sam and tell him what my situation was. I drove into Sudbury and requested a meeting with Sam Whitehouse. I marched into the office and he asked me what he could do for me. I was about half way through my explanation and Sam started pulling his collar. It was a habit he had when something stressed or bothered him. He would hook his one finger inside his collar and pull and run the finger back and forth. He looked at the floor then looked at me and said the following: “Now look! If you want to go fishing for a couple of weeks, I am not going to sit on the bank to see if you catch any. Now get the hell out of here.” I said: Thank you very much Sir and headed back to Warren with a big smile on my face. I applied for and got my holidays. John and I moved to Naughton and started building. In three weeks we had the house pretty well built and John was able to finish it on his own.

There is one little part to add to this last story. At this time Rhoda and I had no credit line established and felt there was little chance of borrowing sufficient funds from the bank to start our construction. I remembered hearing an advertisement from a Rick Gougeon a reaestate broker in Sudbury. He would give loans for house construction. We thought if we went through him we would have to pay a higher interest but would be able to get the money we needed. We drove into Sudbury and made an appointment to see him. When we explained, who we were and what we wanted. He replied: you don’t need me, go in and see the loans officer at the Royal Bank and tell him I sent you. We followed his instructions and obtained the money we needed at a preferred interest rate.

I have learned a little bit about finance since that meeting. We sure did appreciate Rick’s help when we needed it. I will continue this story in a following submission.

All of my police stories are stored at <garryspolicememories.tumblr.com> should anyone wish to read them.

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hurt-care · 6 years ago

Text

Secrets

Set during the first Wizarding War. This might be one of my favs, but it’s a bummer.

Remus/Sirius, Remus with a cold

---

They were all gathered at a long table in Dorcas Meadowes' country home where the Order had established one of their safe houses for meetings. Albus Dumbledore sat at the head of the table listening while Marlene McKinnon gave an update on her recent mission with Edgar Bones. James, Lily, and Peter were all seated together toward the middle while Remus, ever punctual, was closer to the front.

And Sirius Black was running late. Again.

He circled his motorbike high above the fields, searching for the glimmer of the enchantments that hid the house. Finally he spotted them in the distance and sent the bike into a sharp dive, landing at such speed that he nearly sent himself toppling over the handlebars. He performed a few quick charms to hide the bike and a few more to get past the safe house's security spells. Finally, he was at the door visible to only those who had been given the location by the secret keeper. He let himself inside and rushed down the hallway to the kitchen, rounding the corner and entering with a grin on his face.

“Mr. Black, I see you've managed to join us,” Dumbledore said cooly. “We've just begun.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Sirius groveled, making his way through the jumble of chairs to the only remaining open spot at the far end of the table next to Sturgis Podmore. A few seats down at a spot across the table, James gave a small wave and stuck his tongue out at his friend. Sirius returned the gesture and gave a nod to Lily and Peter.

“Where's Moony?” he mouthed at James.

James inclined his head over to where Remus was sitting further along.

Sirius craned his neck to see, silently cursing Emmeline Vance for blocking his view. Then, by either his newly gained skill of mind-control or just simple luck, she pushed back her chair a bit and Remus came into view.

He was wearing a dark green wooly cardigan over his t-shirt despite the relatively mild spring weather and his head was inclined down, apparently studying the tabletop. It'd been weeks since Sirius had seem him. Dumbledore had sent Remus off on some mission up north that Sirius wasn't privy to...at least not yet. It didn't take much prying to get Remus to give up some little details.

Look up, Sirius thought as he stared at the man, but Remus remained still. Sirius definitely didn't have the power of mind control....too bad.

“Will you update us on your work, Sturgis?” Dumbledore was saying and Sirius snapped back to reality as Sturgis began speaking beside him.

Sirius feigned interest in the report, listening with as much attention as he could muster. He was counting the knots in the wooden kitchen cabinets to stay awake when a sound caught his ear.

Hrrhhh-tsKGHHH!

It was a heavy and tired-sounding, congested sneeze. His head turned just in time to see Remus' face emerge from behind a plaid flannel handkerchief. Their eyes finally met and Remus looked away quickly, but not before Sirius got a decent look at him. Remus' eyes were heavily circled and tired, like he'd been dragged out of bed after a full moon to attend the meeting. But Sirius knew that wasn't true. The moon had been over a week ago, because Sirius spent that night staking out a suspected Death Eater hideout with James. The majority of the mission involved them sitting in a grove of trees watching a house while the full moon hung ominously above them, a constant reminder of their friend.

“Fuck Dumbledore and his sodding missions,” Sirius had said, perturbed, as he'd poked a stick into the dirt at the base of the tree where he sat next to James. “We should be with Moony.”

“Dumbledore doesn't know, about Prongs and Padfoot,” James had replied with the sort of rational thinking that he'd apparently acquired with the threat of his impending fatherhood.

“Wonder where he is."

“He never can tell us.”

“He'll tell me,” Sirius had insisted.

Now, here they were, nearly reunited. By the looks of him, wherever Remus had been wasn't a pleasant place. A small swell of rage rose in Sirius' gut as he thought about Remus being sent to do whatever ridiculous dirty work Dumbledore always seemed to be putting him up to.

“Thank you, Sturgis,” Dumbledore was saying. “And Hestia?”

Sirius kept his gaze fixed on Remus, who sat facing away with his head propped up by his hand, elbow resting on the table. For someone who usually excelled at feigning attention, Remus looked a bit like he might drop off to sleep at any second. His head began to dip and Sirius thought that he might be starting to doze, but the sharp sound that followed told otherwise.

Ngh'tXHT!

The stifled sneeze was barely audible over Hestia's Order report. Remus' shoulders rose and fell as he sniffled thickly.

Sirius reached for his quill and a scrap of parchment from his bag.

Your flat after? I'll make tea. You look terrible.

He folded the scrap and tapped it with his wand before dropping it casually on the floor. The parchment slid silently along the ground under the long dining table before rising up and hovering just above Remus' lap.

It took a moment for Remus to notice to note but when he unfolded it, he paused to scrub a hand wearily across his eyes before reading the parchment. His head moved slightly, as if tempted to turn and look down the table, but his gaze remained downward and he scribbled a response before dropping the scrap back on the floor.

Sirius caught the paper as it returned to his lap, unfolding it to reveal Remus' familiar script.

Have to debrief w. Dumbledore after. Then I want my own bed. Won't be good company.

With a sigh, Sirius pocketed the note and tried to refocus on the meeting. Why did Remus need private debriefing with Dumbledore? Couldn't it wait? Clearly he wasn't well and sitting in an Order meeting was probably the last place he wanted to be. And Remus hadn't seen any of them in weeks...why didn't he at least want to say a brief hello?

The meeting seemed to drag on for a decade longer until finally Dumbledore clapped his hands together and thanked everyone for attending. Sirius scrambled to his feet, grabbing his bag and trying to fight the crowd to get over to Remus, but by the time he'd made it across the room, Remus and Dumbledore were gone.

“What's going on?” James asked, coming up behind Sirius. “He looked terrible.”

“I don't know,” Sirius replied, frustrated. “He said he needed to meet with Dumbledore privately for a debrief. Whatever the hell Dumbledore has him doing, I don't like it.”

“It's strange that he can never tell us,” Peter chimed in, joining the group. “Whatever it is, I don't understand why only Remus can know about it.”

“Dumbledore knows he's smart,” Lily added. “If he's trusted Remus with something secret, we should respect that.”

“Marauders don't keep secrets,” Sirius huffed, staring daggers at the closed door at the end of the room where he guessed Remus and Dumbledore had gone.

“We've got to get going,” James said, putting an arm around Lily. “Let us know if you get anything out of him.”

“I've got to run too,” Peter said. “Appointment. Catch you later, Pads?”

Sirius nodded.

When the others had gone, he thought briefly about barging in on the meeting between Dumbledore and Remus, but a better idea came to him and he went outside to his motorbike instead.

He rolled the bike over behind a large shrub and cast several disillusionment spells on it, hiding it away for later retrieval. Remus' flat wasn't close at all to the safe-house and if he wanted to get there before Remus, he'd have to Apparate.

Concentrating on the location of the Muggle neighbourhood in North London where Remus lived, he spun on his heel and disappeared, returning back to the ground in the alley beside Remus' building.

It took him several minutes gain entry, carefully removing layer after layer of protective spells. Then, it was a simple 'alohamora' and he was inside.

Remus' flat didn't have much in it to warrant that many locking spells, Sirius thought as he looked around the space. It was a bachelor flat consisting of one small room and an adjacent washroom. There was a tiny desk and chair in one corner, piled with books and parchment and an assorted array of other magical instruments and tools. The far wall had a counter with a sink, an electric kettle, a hot plate, and a fridge. Remus' bed and dresser took up the remaining wall.

Sirius inspected the cupboards, coming up with a box of teabags and he fiddled with the Muggle sink and kettle, finally figuring out how to get the damn thing to start boiling (you had to match that tail on the kettle up to the hole in the wall? A plug, was it?). With the tea prepped, he moved to Remus' bed, inspecting the chaotic pile of blankets and pillows. Nothing matched and nothing seemed to be in its proper place, with pillows on the floor and the quilts all tangled in a ball. He tossed them all off the bed and went about layering them back on the bed in neat stacks.

He was just fluffing the last pillow when he heard a sound at the door. Turning with a smile, he saw the door open quickly and the next thing he knew, he was on the ground unable to move.

“For fucksake, Sirius!” Remus' voice cried. It sounded hoarse and tired.

Sirius couldn't move his mouth to reply, so instead he gave a small groan from his spot on the floor.

Remus pointed his wand at the prone body on his floor and said “Rennervate!”

Sirius sat up slowly, rubbing the back of his head where it'd smacked the hardwood.

“Hello to you too, Moony.”

“I put locking spells on my door for a reason, Sirius.”

“And I am remarkably good at removing them."

“I'll have to get stronger ones, then,” Remus replied dryly. “Thank you for the housewarming, but I just want to—teh....”

Remus paused mid-sentence and furrowed his brows, mouth dropping open and nostrils flaring threateningly. He dug in the pocket of his trousers for his handkerchief and barely got it to his face in time to smother two violent sneezes.

Hurhh'TSGHHTT! Nhh..gh'TSGHTT!

“Bless you,” Sirius said. “Sit. I made tea. I figured out your strange kettle with the tail.”

“Sirius....” Remus said from behind the cloth shield as he wiped his nose and gave a short, wet blow. “Please, I'll owl you later. I just want to go to bed.”

“Then go to bed. I'll stay.”

“I don't want you skulking around my flat while I'm sleeping,” Remus said, his voice starting to sound frustrated.

“You're gone for weeks without so much as a peep and then you turn back up looking and sounding like hell and wanting absolutely nothing to do with your best friends,” Sirius replied, exasperated. “What exactly do you have to hide, Moony, because you're not doing yourself any favours with this act.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Remus snapped back. “I don't want to argue with you. Please, Sirius. You should just --”

He was about to say “go” but his words caught in his throat and he began to cough. Sinking down to sit on the edge of his bed, Remus tucked his face into the crook of his arm, body shaking with each pained hack.

“Moony...” Sirius began, approaching the coughing man.

“Just go,” Remus choked out between spasms. His pale face was turning pink and sweaty with exertion.

“Let me get you some water first,” Sirius insisted, hurrying to the kitchen and pouring a glass. He returned to Remus' bedside and sat down, offering the cup over with one hand and placing the other on the man's back. Remus kept coughing, his back rising and falling under Sirius' touch. He took a sip of the water, then another, until the coughs slowly died away and Remus was left breathing shallowly as his strained lungs rested.

“There,” Sirius said, taking the empty water glass from Remus' grip and setting it down on the nightstand. “Now, tell me what drawer you keep your pyjamas in and I'll fetch them.”

“You don't have t—teh...heh'tsgHTT!”

Remus' sneeze was blocked by his wrist but when he pulled his hand away, his nose was shiny around the edges with moisture.

“I'm going to fetch your pyjamas for you whether you like it or not, Remus Lupin,” Sirius insisted. “Tell me where they are or I'll go digging through your drawers and make fun of all your pants.”

“Bottom drawer,” Remus said, defeated. He stood and plodded over to the washroom, shutting the door behind him. As Sirius picked out a pair of pyjama bottoms and a soft t-shirt, he could hear the muffled sounds of Remus trying to blow his nose over and over.

Sirius knocked on the bathroom door.

“I've got your clothes. I'll toss them in.”

He opened the door and threw the pyjamas inside before shutting it again. A few moments later, Remus emerged red-nosed and sniffling, now wearing the change of clothes. He walked past Sirius and straight to his bed, pushing back the stack of quilts and sliding under.

“You can go now,” he said, pulling one of the layers up and over his head.

“Or course,” Sirius replied. “Sleep well, Moony.”

But Sirius wasn't planning on going too far. Just down to the corner store for some medicine and food. It was painfully obviously that Remus had little of either thing in his flat.

Though Remus' neighbourhood was almost entirely Muggle, there was a small Wizarding shoppe located about a ten minute walk from the flat. Sirius found it relatively easily and stocked up a bag with instant self-warming soup, some more tea, and a variety of balms and tonics that claimed to ease colds. He bypassed the Pepper Up and other potions. Remus' werewolf physiology was generally hearty against the more common bugs cured by Pepper Up, so anything that managed to get him this sick tended to remain impervious to readily-available potion remedies.

Bag of supplies in hand, he went back to Remus flat and crept back inside.

Remus was asleep, snoring with the quiet wheezing sound of someone with a heavy cold. He'd thrown off some of the blankets and was splayed out, arms tangled in his sheets.

Sirius set the parcel of food and medicines down on the table and crossed to get a good look at his sleeping friend. Remus' face had a thin sheen of sweat across it and his normally pale cheeks were flushed an unnatural pink. Sirius pressed a tentative hand to the man's brow to confirm what he already worried was true; Remus definitely had a fever.

Sirius found a clean dishcloth in the kitchen and soaked it in cool water, wringing it out so it was damp but not dripping. Returning to the bedside, he pressed it against Remus' forehead.

The man shifted in his sleep, making a small moaning sound that near broke Sirius' heart.

“Oh, Moony,” he said softly. “What the hell did Dumbledore have you doing?”

Remus slept on, breathing noisily.

Just as Sirius was turning to busy himself with unpacking some his purchased supplies, there was the sound of someone Apparating outside in the hallway. Sirius grabbed his wand, gripping it tightly as he crept towards the door.

There was a knock. Behind him, Remus stirred and began to cough.

“Remus? It's me, Madam Pomfrey,” the person on the other side of the door called.

Sirius swung open the door, wand still at the ready, to indeed find the Hogwarts matron waiting in the hallway with her medical bag in hand.

“Mr. Black,” she said, sounding surprised. “Professor Dumbledore has asked that I come look in on Mr. Lupin.”

Sirius stepped aside a little to allow the matron to enter the flat. Across the room, Remus struggled to sit up in bed, still sputtering with coughs.

“Madam Pomfrey,” he choked.

“Don't sit up for my sake, lad,” she said, crossing to the bed and gently easing Remus back down into his nest of pillows. “I didn't realize your friends were already looking in on you, but I better take a look just to put the Headmaster's mind at ease.”

“Sirius was just leaving,” Remus said. The coughs had died away and he was lying with his eyes closed, looking utterly spent by the short fit.

Madam Pomfrey looked at Sirius who shrugged and shook his head.

“I'll leave you to it then,” he said.

Grabbing his bag, he went out into the hall but didn't leave. Instead, he stood against the closed door, ears straining to hear.

“How long have you been ill, dear?” Sirius heard the matron ask. Remus' response was muffled, but it sounded like he'd said “a while now.”

“And the others in the pack,” Madam Pomfrey said. “Were any of them ill with the same? Did they use any remedies?”

“Some,” Remus croaked but the rest of his response was lost to coughing. Sirius stumbled, reeling from this revelation. Others in the pack? What pack?

Had Remus been out with other werewolves?

He tried to picture it...their gentle, dry-humoured Moony out in the moors with a pack of feral werewolves who practiced only raw, primal magic and had no love for the Wizarding world. No wonder Remus was acting cagey.

He'd barely wrapped his mind around the idea of it when the flat door opened and Madam Pomfrey emerged.

“Oh, you're still here,” she said. “I was just saying to Remus that it would be ideal to have someone looking in on him, at least for the next day or two so he doesn't have to fix his own meals or potions. Will you be staying, Mr. Black?”

“Yes,” Sirius replied firmly over the sound of Remus' own quiet voice hissing “no” from the bed.

“Good. I've left the potion instructions on the table. Do owl me if you have any questions,” she said before looking back into the flat towards her most frequent patient. “Get some rest, Remus. I'll come by to check in on Tuesday."

“Thank you, Madam Pomfrey,” Sirius said, putting on his most charming grin. “I'll make sure he gets plenty.”

The matron smiled back and patted his shoulder before turning on her heel and apparating away.

“I guess you're stuck with me now, eh Moony?” Sirius said as he stepped back into the flat.

“I'm capable of taking care of myself,” Remus croaked. The flat now smelled strongly of some sort of mentholated balm and Remus was re-tucked back under the covers with a fresh enchanted cooling cloth on his brow.

“Might want to blow your nose then,” Sirius said, picking up a handkerchief from Remus' nightstand and handing it over. “You're leaking.”

Remus grabbed the cloth and pressed it to his nose with a scowl. The action seemed to irritate his red, inflamed nose and he soon was pinching the handkerchief over his nostrils, stifling a painful-sounding sneeze.

Ehh-GHXT!

“Bless,” Sirius said, taking a seat crosslegged at the end of Remus' bed. “Don't hold them in like that or you'll make your head explode.”

“You're going to make my head explode if you don't let me be,” Remus retorted.

“You know, you're normally a much more cheerful invalid than this,” Sirius said, a hint of joking in his voice.

Remus didn't respond but instead rolled over to his side, his face hidden in the pillows.

“Hey...” Sirius said after a moment, touching Remus' leg through the stacks of blankets. “I heard what Pomfrey said. About the pack? Do you want to talk about it?”

Under the quilts, Sirius could see Remus' shoulders rise and fall with a shuddering sigh.

“Moony?” Sirius asked again, scooting further down the bed. His hand found the curve of Remus' back and he settled his palm there, rubbing a small circle. From the nest of pillows came the quiet sound of a muffled sob.

“Talk to me,” Sirius urged gently. Remus head moved with a small shake.

“I can't,” Remus' voice said, tiny and hoarse.

“You can,” Sirius replied. “You always can. I won't tell Dumbledore that I know where he's been sending you. Frankly, I don't know why it's been such a secret all this time.”

Hurh'TSMPHHH!

Remus' body jerked with a sneeze and a moment later, his voice asked “can you pass me a handkerchief?”

Sirius found a clean one on the nightstand and passed it over. Remus emerged from his shield of pillows with the cloth over his face, eyes teary and cheeks flushed. He blew his nose with a very wet gurgle and then wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

Sirius looked at him solemnly. He could barely count on one hand the number of times he'd seen Remus cry. When they'd found out about him, of course. And when his mother had died.

And the prank.

And now. What had life been like with these werewolves that had him so upset?

“I'm tired,” Remus said when he'd finally given up trying to clear his nose.

“I know,” Sirius said. “Why don't you rest some more and we'll talk once you've had some rest?”

“You don't have to stay,” Remus murmured, rolling back over.

“You're not getting rid of me now,” Sirius said. “Not now that I have Pomfrey's orders.”

Remus gave a small sound of agreement.

“Can Padfoot stay?” Sirius asked. Sometimes, after particularly painful transformations, the warmth and bulk of the large black dog against Remus' tired body seemed to help. More than once, Sirius had snuck into the hospital wing and curled up under the standard-issue white sheets and scratchy wool blankets to help Remus' recovery.

“Okay,” Remus agreed.

A second later, the shaggy black dog leapt up onto the bed and circled twice before settling down against Remus' hip. The young man heaved a weary sigh and curled a hand through Padfoot's thick fur before he was back to sleep.

Sirius managed a little bit of sleep as Padfoot, but most of the time he lay curled up against Remus was spent awake, thinking. As Padfoot, his mind was simpler and clearer, with thoughts coming and going more as feelings and images than concrete ideas. He thought about Moony, alone and cold in an unfamiliar place, probably living somewhere that would make the Shrieking Shack look like Versailles.

Remus slept soundly at first, clearly exhausted and in need of the rest. But after a while, his breathing was beginning to sound noisier and he started sniffling and sputtering between snores. The sputters turned into small coughs that grew until he was coughing himself awake. He writhed under the sheets, pushing them back as he struggled to sit up. Beside him, Padfoot rose up and with a single fluid motion turned back to Sirius.

“Hey,” Sirius said, grabbing Remus' arm and helping to prop him up with a pillow. Remus' chest rattled audibly as he sputtered with the phlegmy coughs. He reached over to his nightstand for a handkerchief and held it to his face, trying to clear his nose but only making a squelching, honking sound instead.

“Fucking drowning in this post-nasal stuff,” he murmured as the coughing finally stopped. He blew his nose in one final attempt to clear the congestion and balled up the handkerchief for later laundering.

“Pomfrey left something that'll help,” Sirius said. “Just a second.”

He untangled himself from the mess of blankets and limbs, crawling over Remus and heading for the kitchen table where the matron had left supplies. He returned carrying a small pot with a lid dotted with holes.

“Says just to set a heating charm,” he told Remus, setting the pot down on the nightstand. He tapped it with his wand and said the spell. Almost instantly, the pot began to release a heavy steam.

“Humidifier,” Remus said. “Never seen a magical one.”

“Smells funny.”

“It's just more menthol,” Remus replied, leaning back into the pillows and closing his eyes. “I imagine I'll stink of it for the next week or so.”

“Better than stinking of other things,” Sirius quipped. “Did you get some decent rest, at least? You were out for quite a while.”

“I think so,” Remus replied wearily. “Still beat but I'll stay up a while and see if that thing does any good.”

“D'want something to eat, then?” Sirius asked. “I got some soup, or there's toast?”

“Soup?”

“Aye, when you were sleeping before, I walked down to MacMurray's. Got some instant soup and a few other things. Didn't know at the time that your personal physician would be stopping by.”

“She's not my-”

“I'm joking, Moony,” Sirius interrupted. “Relax. What do you want to eat?”

“I'm fine, thanks.”

“You have to eat, Remus.”

“The soup then,” Remus relented. “Just a little bit.”

Sirius went to the kitchen area and opened the tin, which was enchanted to be magically warmed when exposed to air. He poured the steaming broth into two bowls, careful to make sure that Remus' had the bulk of the chicken bits for protein.

“There,” he said, returning to the bed and handing a bowl over to Remus. “Eat up.”

Remus took the bowl with cupped hands and held it close to his face, quietly slurping a few spoonfuls. Sirius sat at the opposite end of the bed, eating his own portion.

Hehh...

Between slurps, Remus' breath hitched and his eyes widened in panic. With the quick reflexes, Sirius flicked his wand and took hold of Remus' bowl with a spell, just in time to allow the man to turn his head and shield his nose with his shoulder.

Hhehh-TSGHTT! Nhhh...hehh'tsh-GSHGXT! Tshh'GHGHTT!

Dazed and blinking in the aftermath of the fit, Remus raised his head back up with a thick sniffle and wrinkled his nose.

“Thanks,” he said, taking hold of the bowl of soup once more. “That could have been a disaster.”

“This is precisely the reason Pomfrey recommended that someone stay,” Sirius teased, releasing the bowl from the levitation spell and returning to his own meal.

“Doubt it,” Remus replied, focusing on his soup as if he could see the future in the noodles like tea leaves.

“Hey,” Sirius said, grabbing Remus' leg lightly through the piled blankets. “Did Dumbledore send you on a mission to lose your sense of humour or something?”

Remus scowled at him over the soup bowl.

“Moony,” Sirius urged, setting his empty bowl down on the ground. “Talk to me. You said you would.”

With a sigh, Remus put his own bowl down on the nightstand and huffed a few coughs into the crook of his elbow. Lying half propped-up against the stack of pillows, he looked possibly worse than he had a few hours before. His cheeks were still flushed with fever and his nose was red and raw.

“There's not much to tell,” he said.

“You met other werewolves?” Sirius asked.

“I did,” Remus confirmed. “At Dumbledore's request. Not everyone in the Order knows about me, so we've kept it quiet.”

“But why from us?” Sirius asked.

“I suppose it made it easier,” Remus confessed. “Less explanation.”

“We're you're friends, Moony. What I can't understand is why you went alone without telling any of us. And why when you turned back up looking like hell, you wanted nothing to do with us.”

“You can't possibly understand this, Pads,” replied Remus earnestly. “And I didn't want to try to explain it.”

“Try me,” Sirius challenged. “What about it can't I understand? Tell me what it was like. Were they nice or were they terrible?”

Remus looked down at his hands.

“Some were nice,” he said softly. “And some weren't. Mostly it made me angry. Angry and sad.”

“Sad?”

“It took me ages to find them,” Remus began, crossing his arms across his chest and hugging himself tight. “The one pack I was trying to find this time, I mean. They live way out in rural Wales, farther from any town than you can walk in a day. They have what I suppose you could call a camp, but that implies there's some shelter and supplies. They don't have much of either. It's a few lean-tos and fires, and a couple of stolen cots and such.”

“What do they do for food?” Sirius asked, his stomach sinking with each new detail.

“Hunt for what they can find, at least during the new moons. Mostly rabbits and sometimes they'll get lucky and trap something larger. During the full, they'll take down any prey they're able. They got a few deer while I ran with them, but no men, thankfully.”

“How many of them?”

“Fifteen in this pack. Ten men, five women.”

“And they let you stay with them?” Sirius asked.

“After some convincing, yes,” Remus replied. “They weren't very trusting of someone they tracked for twelve kilometres before he noticed them. A wolf that was freshly shaven and smelling of candle-smoke and parchment. At least I didn't have my wand. I locked it in a safety deposit box at a bank in Cardiff.”

“You didn't have your wand?” Sirius exclaimed.

“I couldn't,” Remus said. “Not if I wanted to earn their trust. It was the first time since I got it at Ollivander's that I've been without it. I don't think I've ever been so scared walking away from somewhere than I was leaving that bank.”

“Rightfully so,” Sirius scoffed. “Wandless magic talents aside, I would never!”

“I didn't have a choice,” Remus replied, his voice pained. With every word, he was getting hoarser. “They hate wizards, Sirius. And after I spoke to them, I can say that I understand why.”

“You can understand why they hate wizards?” Sirius said incredulously. “You're a bloody wizard, Remus!”

“I was turned long before I learned magic,” Remus said. “I am only a wizard because of a ridiculous streak of dumb luck granted by the sheer idiotic kindness of Dumbledore. If not for him, I would be them. I would hate us too.”

“Were some of them wizards...before?” Sirius asked.

“No,” Remus replied. “I've heard about wizards who get turned. They don't usually last very long. If you don't grow up with this, it isn't an adjustment that you can easily make. There are some who can do magic, but it's primitive. Mostly wandless spells for fire and tracking. A few know some healing spells.”

“You must've impressed them, then,” Sirius said. “I remember McGonagall saying that your wandless magic was the best she'd ever seen.”

“There's a reason for that,” Remus said darkly. “A natural talent, one might say.”

“If they hate wizards, why would they align with You-Know-Who?” asked Sirius. “He has all the worst sorts of wizards who especially hate werewolves. If they knew how many of his followers actively campaign for stronger restrictions...”

“He's offering free blood,” Remus interrupted. “The chance to hunt openly and ruthlessly. There are those of them who want that. And for the others, he's making empty promises about power and glory. I'm trying to convince them that none of it is true.”

He pulled his legs up and hugged his knees to his chest, suddenly looking much younger than his twenty years. Sirius reached out and touched Remus' arm, giving it a gently squeeze.

“I'm sure you did convince some of them,” Sirius said. “Who wouldn't trust you?”

Remus gave a barking laugh that turned into coughing. When he managed to get it under control, he wiped his mouth and looked at Sirius with a dark expression.

“I don't know,” he said. “I don't know who trusts me and who doesn't.”

“You're delirious,” Sirius replied.

“M'not,” Remus said, stifling a yawn. His voice was barely above a whisper from all the talking.

“Do you want to sleep again?” Sirius asked. “You need it.”

Remus shook his head.

“I don't know if I could. And my head is so congested, I think laying down will make it explode.”

Sirius scooted up the bed until he was sitting beside Remus, leaning back against the headboard.

“C'mere,” he beckoned, patting the spot in front of him.

“What?” Remus asked.

“Just trust me, Moony,” Sirius said. “It'll help.”

He stretched his legs out and guided Remus to sit between them, leaning back against Sirius' chest. Guiding Remus' head back to loll against his shoulder, Sirius reached up and slid his fingers gently along Remus' sinuses, tracing paths beneath his eyes and across his forehead in long, soothing strokes. Remus' whimpered a little at first with the pressure but was soon relaxing against Sirius' body, letting himself go limp.

“Sirius,” he muttered after a few moments, his voice sleepy and hoarse.

“Shh,” Sirius urged. “Just relax.”

“No, Sirius,” Remus replied, more insistent. His chest began to tremble with rapid shivers of breath and Sirius felt the man's eyebrows furrow beneath his touch.

“Oh,” Sirius said, realizing what was about to happen. He released his grip on Remus in time for the man to pitch forward, sneezing openly.

Hurh'tsSGHHHH!

Remus moaned and covered his nose with his arm, gasping for air as another sneeze built....

Hehh....hehh-TSGHTTT!

He waited with his nose tucked behind the shield of his arm for several seconds before falling back into Sirius' waiting arms.

“Do you need a handkerchief?” Sirius asked.

Remus shook his head and sniffled with a thick snort.

“Nothing's moving,” he moaned, shutting his eyes and letting Sirius go back to work massaging his swollen sinuses.

“Maybe some hot compresses would help,” Sirius suggested.

Remus shrugged.

“I don't know. What you're doing is helping a bit,” he said. Sirius continued his work, gradually working back to massage Remus' scalp and temples. Before long, Remus was asleep, snoring loudly as he lay reclined against Sirius' chest.

Sirius pushed back Remus' fringe and felt his brow, relieved to discover it relatively cool. Whatever potions Madame Pomfrey had given him seemed to be at work.

“C'mon then,” he said, gently lifting Remus' head and guiding him down into a stack of pillows, keeping him propped up enough to breathe. Remus stirred a little but didn't wake.

Sirius lay down alongside his friend, watching Remus intently as he slept. Suddenly, spending hours in a ditch staking out Death Eater haunts didn't seem so terrible compared to a week in rural Wales with a pack of werewolves. They'd have to compare notes on that later.

#Dustyfic

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aelissah · 6 years ago

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Prologue

Saving Sinafay - Part 1

Sunrise in Stormsong Valley woke a nameless peace in Grakkar. Perhaps it was the verdant, rolling landscape that reminded him so much of Nagrand. The human settlements on the horizon notwithstanding, it felt like home. He wondered if that was why he enjoyed his station there so much. The partial familiarity, interwoven with the excitement of the new experience, gave the Orc this feeling of contentment he couldn’t quite name. And yet… it was that same familiarity that ushered in a taint of sorrow. Nagrand was gone, now - the Draenei had taken it.

The tinge of sorrow he felt had multiplied with each passing Stormsong sunrise. He knew every day spent here was one more day his beloved Sinafay had to spend in enemy hands. And as tenacious as he knew the Vindicator to be… he wasn’t sure exactly how many days would be too much. Each sunrise he saw here could’ve been the last she’d see there on Draenor.

He grunted, brow furrowed as he turned from the sight of the sun cresting over the rolling hillscape. He didn’t feel like worrying about such things anymore. The time for it had passed; now was the time for action.

The first steps towards saving Sinafay started now.

“--Lissah.”

He called out, descending from the hilltop back down into the small cavern at Windfall. The outpost the two of them had built together had flourished. Horde troops, quartermasters, and wyvern tamers moved in to utilize the encampment as a full-fledged reinforced Horde foothold. They had everything they needed there. And anything more they could possibly want was only a short trek down the hill to Warfang Hold. Windfall Cavern was fully operational.

It was the perfect time to leave.

“You said you had something that could take us directly to your city, yes?” he inquired, eying his violet-skinned scouting partner over. “Today’s the day. We shouldn’t waste time.”

Aelissah’s silver adorned ears flickered, and she looked up from the inventory list as Grakkar addressed her. She’d left him to decide the best time for them to travel to Suramar. A test. She was curious to see if he would chose to abandon their post out of impatience, or if he’d wait for the proper troop numbers to arrive and help secure the foothold. She was pleased to discover he chose to do the later. It showed her he could make proper decisions, even when faced with an emotional dilemma.

She knew he wasn’t being entirely honest with her. There was no way someone would risk such a complicated, dangerous and near impossible mission for a ‘good friend’. Going back to the very place he’d barely escaped with his life? No. That was love. Whether Grakkar believed it so or not didn’t matter. That was how Aelissah read the situation.

And that was why she wanted to help him.

The inventory list was handed off to an ugly little goblin as she got up and pulled a clear crystal from her pouch.

“This will create a portal to my home in Suramar,” she explained, “I live alone, so it should be vacant. From there, we will travel to visit a friend of mine, much better versed in the arcane. I have been corresponding with her, and I believe the only thing she will require of us will be to gather the necessary reagents.”

She held the crystal up, palm open and recited an incantation in her native language. Immediately, the crystal began to glow in an arcane light, before the magic it contained spilled out in front of them, forming in the familiar shape of a portal.

“It will close once I step through, so I will wait for you to go first.”

The Orc grunted affirmatively as he stepped up to the portal. His eyes stayed on Aelissah for a moment, as he gave her a firm nod. Grakkar had only met a few elves since arriving on Azeroth. Aelissah was an honorable one; years of experience told him so. He hadn’t expected anyone to be kind - or foolish - enough to help him in this seemingly impossible task. But her assistance made the endeavor seem that much more attainable.

His eyes turned then to the portal, watching it’s arcing, shimmering magics pull the two points together as one. The distortion made it hard to see clearly, but he could make out the basic outline of a room, presumably in the Nightborne’s home. He drew in a breath, and stepped through to the other side.

The journey felt like minutes, but took mere seconds! Grakkar tensed, grimacing at the surreal sensation of being translocated in such a way. He wasn’t used to it at all, even through his service to the Horde thus far exposing him to a myriad of portal usage. It didn’t hurt, but it wasn’t comfortable either. To think some people utilized this mode of transit regularly! He growled as he stepped through to the other side, taking a moment to regain balance and bearing. He blinked his eyes, as details started to slowly come into focus. He hated this sensation - a momentary helplessness in disorientation.

He’d take saddle sore over that any day.

The magical doorway vanished as Aelissah stepped through the portal behind Grakkar. The home was dusty, evidence that it had been some time since the Shal’dorei had lived here. It was rather simple looking, with an ornate table and mirror, along with a chair in the corner. A glowing arcane marking on the ground where the portal had manifested was the only thing illuminating the room.

She stepped passed her partner, opening the door to a lovely hallway, lined with paintings and family pictures. Her mother, father and many siblings, it appeared. Some were of a younger version of herself next to a man. Clearly a spouse or romantic partner, though there appeared to be no sign of anyone else living there.

She didn’t pause to glance at anything, as though she had completely detached herself from the setting. Straight to the main door she went, only taking pause before leading them into the city.

“While the Horde are allies here, not everyone out there is used to seeing other races. Many will stare and ask questions, but no one will attack you. Try to be polite, and let me do all the talking. Some may test your temper, but it is imperative that you remain calm if you wish to save your friend. Understand?”

It took a moment for Grakkar to respond, as he found himself distracted looking at… well… and actual house. Dust notwithstanding, the room and hall seemed so uniform and rigid. Clean, to an uncomfortable fault. He furrowed his brow, taking nameless issue with the symmetry and manufactured perfection of it all. It reminded him a little too much of Draenei architecture… and not in a good way.

His eyes lingered at one picture in particular - clearly a young Aelissah, beside another youthful, handsome elven male. Probably a male, he guessed, still not familiar enough with Nightborne physiology to tell for certain. Still, she and he were rather familiar in the image… he nearly reached out to pluck it from the wall for closer inspection...

“--Hm?” Grakkar grunted, quickly dropping his arm back to his side. “Mm. Zug-zug… I’ll follow your lead.”

He gave Aelissah a firm nod, closing the distance to keep up right behind her before she opened the door out into the city itself.

The home was on the second story of a large building, a set or stairs leading down into the busy streets. Usually, one would have difficulty navigating during this time of day, the markets filled with denizens. However, the pair moved through the crowd rather easily, as people quickly moved aside to gawk at the large Orc. Some had never seen one for themselves, only hearing tales of the Horde army helping with the resistance. They had all left after Elisande fell. It wasn’t a sight anyone was used to. The denizens certainly didn’t try to hide their judgemental expressions. Some of the children even dared walk up to try and poke Grakkar with a stick. Orcs were recognized as allies, but rarely were these savage looking creatures seen walking the streets of their great city.

“Pay them no mind,” Aelissah walked at a quick pace. She wanted to get to their destination quickly, before Grakkar lost his temper.

After many confusing turns and archways, the buildings cleared into a courtyard of some kind, a large and ornate structure stood before them. Arcane energy permeated the surroundings, felt by even those without affinity. That’s where the pair was stopped, guards at the main door refusing to let them in.

“Let us pass. I have an appointment,” Aelissah spoke in her native tongue. She didn’t mean to be rude with Grakkar, but also didn’t want him getting angry at the words the guards were saying about him.

“You’re not entering the facility with that -thing- in tow.” The one on the right answered, pointing clearly to Grakkar with a distaste, “Ally or not, you can’t just bring it anywhere in the city! We have sensitive materials in here that can’t afford to be broken by clumsy savages.”

She huffed in impatience, “If you won’t let us in, at least be useful in bringing Circadia Dial'nieth here to speak to us. Tell her, Aelissah Ambroise is here to see her.”

She crossed her arms and looked at them expectantly. It was a long shot, but she was desperately trying to avoid a fight.

“Is there a problem?” Grakkar asked bluntly - but even without speaking the eloquent elven language, he already knew the answer.

Such puny guards; Grakkar towered over both of them, even with their clean and shiny armor, thrumming with the excess and wanton magic he felt in this maze of stone, metal, and glass. Getting here had been an ordeal on its own, between the piercing looks and not-so-hushed whispers he knew were about him. The bustling crowd the two had to cut through, albeit without too much difficulty, still left Grakkar extremely on edge. He prefered his solitude; one or two companions, tops. To be so cloistered and surrounded, especially by prying, judgemental gazes, set the Orc immediately into a defensive, disgruntled mindset.

But he held it together well, so far. He thought, anyway. All for Sinafay. It would all be worth it…

These guards weren’t making it any easier, though. He could tell by their looks that they took issue with him. With what he was. How satisfying it would be to crush their puny skulls in their little thumb-sized helmets, or rip those ridiculous ears from their heads and add them to his trophy necklace… But that would only prove them right. That would only set him back further from saving Sinafay. So he held.

For now.

One of the Guards turned from miss Aelissah Ambroise and her savage companion, drawing an enchanted crystal from his pouch. Mutterings in his native tongue were hard even for Aelissah to hear or understand, as he spoke into the enchanted item. A moment later, he turned back to the group… and sighed.

“... Arcanist Dial’nieth will receive you in the western conference room.” he informed Aelissah, glancing judgmentally to the Orc beside her. “You and that… thing… are permitted there and nowhere else. I trust we’ll have your cooperation. I’m certain I don’t need to explain what a failure to comply will bring about…”

Grakkar didn’t understand a word of it… but looked to Aelissah for the moment. He watched her closely for her reaction, fully prepared to act accordingly.

These smug elven guards weren’t going to come between him and saving his beloved.

Aelissah’s ears lowered as she looked to Grakkar. He was doing well considering, but she could tell he was like a ticking time bomb. If he started a fight here, the mission would be over before it even had a chance to begin.

“A slight altercation, but I believe we can work through it,” she assured him.

Time seemed to stretch on forever as the guard moved away to speak into the communication device. She didn’t show it, but she was getting restless herself. If they were refused, she’d have to try and sneak Grakkar in somehow… not an easy task. The thought of it stressed her out enough that she let out a relieved sigh when the guard returned with the good news. She visibly relaxed, ears lifting to their normal position on her head.

“I understand. You have our thanks,” she bowed her head to the guard before turning to her partner and explaining in Orcish, “We are being allowed in, but you must absolutely not leave my side.”

With that, she passed by the pair of sentries to take the quickest way to the western conference room.

Grakkar was quick to follow, keeping by Aelissah’s side as they entered the strange structure.

What was this place? The very air made his hair stand on end, tingling! He couldn’t shake an odd, sour taste in his mouth. His nostrils flared, feeling as if he’d snorted a breath of sand. Looking around, he saw… nothing. Strange lights, and elves observing them. Intently. He tried to do the same, in passing, curious what it was that seemed to fascinate them so. But… he couldn’t make anything out, besides a violet glow. He huffed - magic nonsense. At least it kept their eyes off of him.

Most of their eyes, anyway. A few turned and eyed Grakkar suspiciously - gasping faintly, as if he were carrying a bloodied corpse through a sacred site. It clicked-- perhaps this was a sacred site to these elves? One of their temples, perhaps? It certainly felt like it; numerous elves all dressed the same, peering into light to see visions or gain wisdom…

He frowned deeper. It was feeling FAR too much like a Draenei city all over again.

The western conference room was empty - at first. Grakkar looked around as he followed Aelissah inside, expecting… well, something. He got what he expected after a brief second, as the doors closed behind them. The center of the ceiling descended, hovering down off the ground as a large conference table. Chunks of the wall levitated out from the walls, twisting and turning until they took their places around the table as chairs.

It was an impressive display - or it would be, likely, to anyone else. The sudden movements in the room itself surprised the orc! Already on edge, he reacted quickly, drawing his axe from his back and swinging down at the nearest shape that moved towards him! One of the chairs was cleaved in half instantly as he brought his axe down, leaving only a shrill, melancholy reverb in the air behind it. Grakkar snarled, as everything finally fell into its automated place, and he realized what was happening. He turned to look at Aelissah, unapologetically.

“Hmph. At least it was just a chair, yeah?” he grunted, sheathing his axe.

More movement caught his eye, grip still tight around the handle of his axe as he watched, at the ready - as he’d proven! A shimmer of magic opened a portal, and another elf stepped through into the room across from the two of them. This one was female, Grakkar could tell - with such a lithe frame, fair face, and vibrant bronze and blue dress cut low enough to reveal what seemed to be a universal female trait shared by sentient humanoids across the worlds. She looked a lot like Aelissah, Grakkar thought - thought they all looked more or less the same. This one wore fancy adornments on her ears, and a monocle over her right eye. Tattoos of various foreign shapes and symbols were glowing brightly off what skin of hers was revealed on her face, above her chest, along her arms, and her midriff. She looked at Grakkar immediately, and smiled - seeming to be the only elf in this entire city who wasn’t surprised by the sight of him!

“--Oh, good. You made it through, this time.” she said, simply, before looking to Aelissah.

“And you made it back! Timestreams where you ever bother to come visit me here again are growing scarce…” she smirked, approaching her friend. “Welcome home, Lissah.”

Lissah smiled, taking Circadia’s hands in hers and giving them a light squeeze.

“It is good to see you again, though I am not here for long. My partner, Grakkar, has an important quest to undertake, and I will be helping him do so.”

She wondered how much Circadia already knew about her reason to visit. She clearly recognized Grakkar. An interesting feat considering she had never met him.

At least, not in this timeline.

She was a skilled chronomancer, but that came with getting timelines mixed up and confused.

“We need to return to Draenor… the timeline the Mag’har Orcs came to us from. He has a close friend that must be rescued. Any help you can give us would be greatly appreciated.”

“Hmm…” Circadia hummed, idly swinging a small silver pocket watch which hung from her wrist.

She looked Aelissah over for a long moment… as if looking for something specific detail. She knew Aelissah well enough, after years of working together. Most recently (in this timeline, anyway) they worked together during the Dusklily Revolution - contributing in their own ways, of course. Circadia hardly had the finesse Aelissah did. But her arcane talents were considerable.

Still, Circadia scanned her dear friend over appraisingly, silent for a moment. ‘Does she know…?’ she wondered...

Then, her gaze turned to Grakkar. The Orc remained rather on edge, despite the unique treatment he received from this particular elf - in fact, the warm reception after a painful journey of glances, whispers, and dirty looks, Circadia’s smile and familiarity only made him that much more uncomfortable. He snarled at her as she looked his way, narrowing his eyes and baring his teeth. This one reeked of magic - they all did, even Aelissah. But this one’s scent of it was as pungent as a wet clefthoof. Sickening, almost!

“Hmph. You speak as if you know me, elf.” he growled, defensively. “I don’t--”

“Grakkar Gorefang, yes?” Circadia interrupted. “Son of Grek’thar, descendant of Korhn the Spinereaver. You’re of the Warsong clan, and proud of it - though what Warsong wouldn’t be?”

The Arcanist stepped closer to Grakkar, confidently - unintimidated. Her eyes never left his… pocket watch never ceasing to sway in steady rhythm.

“You haven’t told your partner here everything about Sinafay, have you?”

Grakkar’s glare turned; a look of panic replacing it. His eyes shot wide, as his frowning lips loosened to allow his jaw to simply drop. Lineage was one thing - but this? How could she know? Quickly, the Orc looked to Aelissah, and shook his head. He had to tell her now...

“I-I… I was going to tell you when--” he started, stuttering.

“Sinafay’s no mere friend of Grakkar’s - she’s his mate!” Circadia declared, again interrupting the orc.

She followed up her revelation with a sing-song laugh, exaggeratedly tilting her head back and covering her mouth as she walked over to circle around Aelissah. Grakkar sank, a subtle sigh escaping him. He nodded slowly.

“... Yes… that.” he affirmed, looking sheepishly to Aelissah.

His eyes flickered past her to Circadia as she moved behind his scouting partner… catching the Arcanist wink as she brought a finger to her lips…

Aelissah was well used to her friend’s odd words and behaviour. Watching Grakkar’s range of emotions interacting with the Arcanist was rather entertaining. While the Informant wasn’t magically inclined, she grew up with a very rich exposure to the arcane and as well as the abilities those capable of wielding its power had. Grakkar, it seemed, had no such exposure.

She raised an eyebrow as his ‘friend’s name came up. She couldn’t help but laugh. Wondering why the orc had even tried to keep that a secret. It was obvious in the lengths he was willing to go to rescue her, that she was much more than a good friend. Her being his mate made a lot more sense.

“I figured as much,” she giggled, “Though it’s nice to have a name to go on, now.”

She turned to Circadia, “You know of the portal Grakkar came through. Are you able to connect to that link and send us there?”

Circadia hummed to herself again, thoughtfully. Her pocket watch swayed to and fro in steady rhythm - upon closer inspection, the pocket watch’s hands spun in a much more chaotic method. Circling one direction, then the other, out of sync and back and forth at random… it was odd to see it do so while the swinging was so perfect. Circadia then, abruptly, looked at Aelissah, and nodded once.

“Of course I am!” she smiled, proudly and with confidence. “And to answer your next question, I can also bring you back.”

She gave a light, melodic laugh, before she stopped the pocket watch from swinging - she held it out before Aelissah, the object sparkling with an arcane flair. She nodded once, succinctly, to her Informant friend.

“You’ll take this.” she stated, rather than offered - as if it already happened. “It’ll be your only means to return.”

With that, she stepped past Aelissah, and looked at Grakkar once more - a serious-yet-gentle expression suddenly painted on her face. Grakkar raised his brow, and narrowed his eyes, still not entirely trusting of Circadia, despite everything she seemed to know…

“She is alive. I’ve seen her.” she assured him. “Be warned, though - in all the time threads I’ve seen of her… she doesn’t have much longer. She’s being held by the Exarchs, just outside Shattrath.”

Grakkar growled. The Exarchs… Draenei elite that drove his people from their homes and left nothing in their wake but the stench of the Light. He’d already lost one love to the Draenei Exarchs… he couldn’t lose another. But hearing Circadia say she didn’t have much longer hit him hard - the Exarchs weren’t known for taking prisoners. His shoulders slumped some… until Circadia brought her hand to gently cup his face.

“Take heart, Grakkar - there is a thread where you save her.” the Arcanist told him. “And it starts right here. Right now.”

From her hand, Grakkar felt a spark of energy. As Circadia pulled away, a faint bronze shimmering image of the Orc was pulled away from him. Not his soul, or any Arcane clone… but rather an essence of his origins… of Draenor. The image floated stoically to the corner of the room, before exploding into a swirling vortex - a portal. The room filled with a familiar scent - ash, dirt, a desolate breeze of char and metal… Grakkar recognized Gorgrond immediately through the rift! He stepped towards it, almost instinctively, before looking to the Arcanist. Circadia’s eyes were aglow with a golden-bronze light, as she weaved her magic to sustain the rift through to Draenor. Still, despite the immense effort and focus it took to keep the portal open, she managed a smile at the Orc.

“Go on, Grakkar! Sinafay awaits! I’ll see you again soon.”

Grakkar nodded once to Circadia, before looking at Aelissah. He smiled, with excitement, and gratitude - she’d held up her end of the bargain, bringing him here to someone that could actually do it!

“Ready, Lissah?” he grunted. “You brought me this far… a little further, yeah?”

Aelissah watched in awe as the portal manifested. Despite living in the city her whole life, this was something she had never seen before. She was surprised… though she really shouldn’t have been. Circadia had been more prepared for their arrival than she expected.

She felt for Grakkar, hearing that his mate was still alive but didn’t have very long. She prayed they wouldn’t be too late and that she wouldn’t be beyond saving.

She hadn’t been able to save her husband...

The informant shook the thought from her head. She had never told the orc her reasons for wanting to help him. His plight resonated with her. If she could save someone else from that fate…

Her thumb moved over the strange pocket watch… their only way home. Her gaze set on Circadia, imbued with the bronze glow of chronomancy. For a moment, she considered asking her friend if she already knew the results of the mission they were undertaking, but thought better of it. Some things were better left unknown.

“Let’s do this,” she replied with a nod, tucking the vital item away in her pocket.

With a deep breath taken, she stepped through the portal into the unknown world beyond.

Grakkar turned to follow Aelissah through, with renewed determination this was it; this was happening! He looked once more to Circadia, and nodded.

“Tha--”

“You're welcome.” the Arcanist cut him off again, both demonstrating her foresight, and rushing the Orc along.

He saw it in her face; features straining from the intensity of holding the portal open. Recalling the Dark Portal they constructed during his tenure with the Iron Horde, he realized how much work and power it had taken to open that rift in the first place. Binding the Shadow Council as conduits, and fortifying a structure to hold it open. Yet here was a lone Nightborne doing the same thing by herself! The realization shook him, in that moment… and his gratitude to her grew tenfold. Another nod, and he quickly stepped through, not wanting to strain her any further…

As the orc vanished into the other world, Circadia dropped her channeling and breathed a heavy sigh. Telemancy was tough on own… but opening portals to other worlds? She only could do it for as long as she did thanks to the Nightwell. She sat down, needing a moment to recuperate. Her eyes flickered over to where the portal was… her smile dropped to a concerned frown.

“Hmm… I hope they make it back this time…”

~*~*~

(( Co-written with @thefugitivemango / @grakkar-gorefang ))

#character story #aelissah ambroise #grakka gorefang #Sinafay #Circadia Dial'nieth #saving sinafay #IT BEGINS!

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theawkwardterrier · 6 years ago

Text

Hand in Hand, Side by Side

Steggy Week, day 3 Prompt: AUs and Crossovers

Summary: ...it was a mark of the gruff affection that he held for Peggy that Phillips didn’t think about the ulcer-inducing process of tracking down a teenaged boy who was willing to be a pairs ice skater and replied only, “I’ll find someone.”

AKA the pairs skating AU no one wanted

AO3 link here.

Steve should never have been recruited. He had doctor’s orders to find some exercise to build his stamina and he saw the way his mom winced when she looked at the prices for membership at the nearest pool so he suggested skating instead. The old rink near their house had cheap rentals, so every week Steve made his way over, trading four crumpled ones in exchange for a pair of scuffed skates far past being broken in. He should have skated the perimeter of the rink for a few months, moving from careful and nervous, barely balancing, to increased confidence even without the lessons he could ill-afford, before the experiment was halted.

Except: Abe Erskine had a cousin in Brighton Beach who wouldn’t stop pushing for him to be allowed to emigrate, and finally, in the last months of the USSR, his visa was stamped and he entered the United States. When they asked his occupation at the airport, some exhausted woman with braids piled on her head who didn’t seem to particularly care about the answer wrote down what he said - “Ice skating coach” - even though “Dissident” was the more recent and accurate job title. He hadn’t been to an Olympics since before Sarajevo, and most people didn’t know him anymore, the name only recalled by the occasional ardent skating fan. But he had been able to scrape together a roster of students, and it was while trying not to wince as a talented but mechanical student named Dottie Underwood took all the love out of a Swan Lake program, that he noticed Steve.

He was attempting a jump, something like a toe loop that he had no business trying and was fumbling through quite badly. But the vivid concentration alight on his face was exactly the same as a young girl Erskine had known from the time she was seven until the time she ascended the highest tier of the Olympic podium, and so, after Dottie had packed up and left precisely on time, Erskine found himself going over to where Steve sat on the bench at the intersection of the shadows of the American and Canadian flags. And as Steve unlaced his skates, Erskine offered the question: “Have you ever thought about being coached?”

Steve laughed through the first inquiries, and Steve’s mother laughed, exhaustedly, through the next. Steve was sickly, untrained, and don’t think she didn’t know how much coaching and competition would cost.

“I promise,” said Erskine, who would be going home to a barely heated apartment and once again filling the spaces in his belly with tea, “that you will never have to pay more than your four dollars a week.”

And Steve, who had blocked out as best he could the joy of a smooth pass around the rink, a new trick invented and mastered, because he knew that it would end, said, “If you can keep that promise, Mr. Erskine, then I’d like to try.”

Sarah Rogers paid her four dollars, and Erskine and Steve worked early morning and darkening evenings, skirting Steve’s school schedule and doctor’s appointments and necessary afternoons off because Bucky needed to see some new movie or because maybe Steve couldn’t breathe too well, but he was fast and that was important on a baseball team.

But over the months, despite the breaks, despite the youth, despite the rundown practice facility and the secondhand skates that Erskine had bought for Steve so at least he’d own a pair, somehow Steve became good. They waited a week, two weeks, a month, after the first time someone other than Erskine or Bucky or Sarah Rogers watched Steve try a spin or a jump and cocked their head in unintentional surprise and couldn’t look away. And then, the winter Steve was eleven, Erskine made a phone call because he’d always known that a solo career wasn’t sustainable if he was going to keep his promise to Sarah Rogers.

He and Chester Phillips didn’t generally bother with pleasantries, a good thing as excitement slid through tired veins.

“Phillips,” he said instead, “if your girl is still looking for a partner, I think I have one.”

Peggy skated for the first time when she was small, sliding minutely along the pond at the back of their property, her hands gripped by her brother. Her mother acquiesced easily to lessons when she asked for them, and less easily to hiring a proper coach for her after Peggy presented a carefully researched file of the best options.

That coach recommended Phillips when the Carters announced that they would be moving to New York. Peggy was technically an American citizen - her mother had joined her father on a business trip and Peggy had been a bit too eager to be born - but the only thing that felt like a homecoming was entering her new rink each day. The smell of feet and sweat and cold, while not pleasant, was the same all around the world.

A year into working with Phillips, he told her that she was good, very good, but she was almost certainly not going to become a professional as a figure skater.

He took in the set of her jaw and held back a smile. He had known she’d get stubborn about it. “Don’t think of it as an insult, think of it as strategy. We need to get you in a smaller pond.”

Her jaw slackened, her shoulders dropped. “Pairs?” she asked, because she picked up quick.

He gave her a bared-tooth grin, blink and miss it, before he said, “Hope you weren’t in the sport for the fans. You’ll have to work up to national skill before you skate to a stadium of more than moms and dads.”

But she ignored this. “Who’s meant to partner me?”

And it was a mark of the gruff affection that he held for Peggy that Phillips didn’t think about the ulcer-inducing process of tracking down a teenaged boy who was willing to be a pairs ice skater and replied only, “I’ll find someone.”

They went through three boys before Abraham Erskine walked into the rink, which felt a bit like tossing away rubies because only diamonds would do. But Daniel was too tentative, dependent on her to lead so that they were always a bit off, and Jack preferred showing off his own skills to working in tandem, and Eddie tried to catch her in the changing room and had to be send away with a broken nose. Finally Phillips introduced his old friend and the old friend introduced his floppy-haired student walking in behind him.

“You think this twig’s good enough to partner my girl?” Phillips boomed.

Peggy watched the new boy; she expected him to wince. Instead he said, voice quiet and sure, speaking from experience rather than bravado, “If I say I can do it, I can do it.” And somehow Peggy found herself believing him.

Steve was used to making do, and he’d known for a while that he’d have to skate pairs if he wanted to compete. It was useless to complain or wish for things to be different, because this was what he had.

Except that it turned out that what he had was pretty wonderful.

Peggy was a better skater than he was, but she wasn’t cruel or snobbish about it. She didn’t pity him, either, just worked hard and dared him to catch up.

“That was good,” she would say when he’d landed a difficult jump or had a successful run-through of a program, her voice appreciative rather than condescending, and it startled a grin out of him every time.

He’d thought he’d be nervous around her, just trying to keep his head down and avoid embarrassing himself in front of this unknown and talented girl with her British accent and her Manhattan apartment. But instead he found that he wanted to be friends with her. They came up with a secret handshake for before and after skating, and found out what each other’s favorite candies were. He introduced her to his mother and Bucky. She trained him in how to recognize a phone number by listening to the buttons’ tones, and he taught her about the best ways to catch popcorn or grapes in your mouth.

Steve had hoped to have a good partner. He had never imagined that he would get Peggy.

They had a cheering squad for when they competed locally: the Carters, Steve’s mother if she wasn’t scheduled to work, Bucky and whichever of the Barnes siblings or cousins were looking to tag along, and eventually Peggy’s friend Angie. When they went abroad for their first attempts at more major competition, Peggy’s mother came, as did the coaches, so the number of people who actually watched them skate into sixth place was more limited.

They went up to Canada for their first Junior Worlds. Steve was glad that it wasn’t any farther: no matter how many times Erskine assured her that girls and their families often paid a male partners’ expenses, his mother was already uncomfortable with the Carters covering skates and costumes, much less intercontinental travel. They scored eighth, and when Steve came home, for the first time since Erskine had first proposed the idea, Sarah Rogers asked him if perhaps it was time to stop dreaming.

She recognized immediately the look in his eyes, the willful fire that she’d first seen when he was a baby with a body fighting itself, when the doctor had shaken his head and said helplessly, “Just try to take care of him, Mrs. Rogers.”

“I’m not going to let us down like that,” he said. She was used to Steve being part of an us - it had been him and her for his entire life, and him and Bucky for only a slightly shorter time - but for the first time she realized he had that with Peggy too, a partnership formed from ice and hours and more defeats on the way to greater victories.

The next time she had an afternoon off, Sarah went to the rink and watched Steve and Peggy try a new lift. He nearly dropped her the first time, forcing her to recover awkwardly on one skate. She didn’t position herself properly the next time and they became tangled. After every attempt, they clasped hands, nearly unconsciously, and said something teasing so they would both laugh before trying again. It had seemed impossible that someone was more stubborn than Steve, but that was before seeing Peggy Carter set her jaw and look as if she would camp out on the ice rather than leave things unfinished. They were still working on the lift two hours later when Sarah left.

The next year Junior Worlds were in Croatia, and the lift, now perfect, helped them into second place.

They’d done well enough in their competitions - third at Four Continents, a series of gold medals from smaller events - but the commentators couldn’t hide the doubt in their voices as Steve and Peggy skated out during Worlds for the first time. They were up against more experienced competitors, Peggy was fuller-figured than the average skater, Steve leaner and smaller despite the beginnings of a growth spurt.

When they rewatched the tape later, they found the broadcast silent for nearly fifteen seconds after their swing medley faded and the two of them stood beaming at center ice. Then came the analysis, words piling over each other as everyone rushed to give shocked compliments. All the contrasts between them, the lowered expectations for what they would be able to do, only magnified the synchronicity and ease and care they had achieved.

Someone stuck a microphone in Steve’s face as he went to track down a Band Aid for a nick to his finger and asked what enabled the two of them to improve so much since their last competition. Another reporter found Peggy putting on a jacket and asked her the same thing.

That night the broadcast ended with a recap of the stunning American upset and a split screen of Peggy and Steve each pausing for half a breath and then saying, “Trust.”

Neither of them actually watched their star moment at the time. They’d found an unlocked door to the roof of their hotel the day before and agreed to meet up there. Peggy carried a thermos of hot chocolate; she often teased Steve that he should mature into either tea or coffee, but tonight she agreed that it would be the perfect thing. When he arrived, he had a package of her favorite shortbread in his pocket, and he wouldn’t tell her exactly where he tracked that down in Nice when they’d spent most of their time at the rink and he didn’t speak French besides.

A breeze blew by and they moved closer. They’d never been particularly touchy with each other: obviously things like lifts and throw jumps could be a bit full contact, but mostly they would brush hands or bump shoulders before and after a skate, do a hug during kiss-and-cry and after the judging. Still, after so much and so long - years of helping each other with homework, pushing each other for just that one more run-through of a routine or to get up and smile through a performance failure, discovering together what a boring nuisance international travel could be and working to alleviate that boredom with a million rounds of Twenty Questions and Truth or Dare - after all that, leaning on each other was unconscious, engrained.

“Hey,” said Steve, knocking his tented knees against hers. He almost diverted himself from what he was about to say, but on a near daily basis Peggy relied on him to toss her in the air, to catch her and support her when she came down. He could trust her with this; it was hers too. “What do you think the odds are that we’ll make it to Salt Lake City?”

She looked out for a moment, curled her hands around her hot cup and sipped. Then she turned to him with a grin. “Whatever the odds are, I wouldn’t bet against us. I don’t lose my bets.”

She’d been in the US for nearly half her life and still sounded so precisely British that, as far as Steve was concerned, she could have arrived at Buckingham Palace without an invitation. He reminded himself that he probably wasn’t allowed to be in love with her.

Phillips and Erskine brought in a choreographer to help them prepare for the Salt Lake games. Natasha was a former ballerina who looked barely older than the two of them, but she was Russian and in skating and dance, that had meaning.

Peggy loved Natasha immediately. They went out for drinks together when they were in countries where they were old enough. Steve had to build up a sort of tolerance for her; their personalities didn’t mesh automatically, but eventually they became good friends. She made their routines better either way, but worked them harder too. Some nights, Steve and Peggy sat on the bench by the edge of the rink less because of the chats they’d always liked to have as the lights were slowly turned off, and more because the thought of standing and moving to go home sounded unbearably strenuous.

They got a little press in the lead-up to the games - a People sidebar, a mention in the Times spread on the US Olympians - but Michelle Kwan was better known, considered the one to watch if you were going to catch a skating event.

Michelle walked away with the bronze. Steve and Peggy successfully ignored Phillips’s pacing, Erskine’s clenched knuckles, and Natasha’s terrifying stillness, and got through their programs, one to a Ludovico Einaudi piece and the other to “Killer Queen” for variety. In their hugs afterwards, in their exchanged glance, they felt a shared hope that perhaps they could pull this off. Perhaps all those hours of training and travel and listening to Phillips yell would end in more than just the two of them having found each other...

That night, when they couldn’t sleep for smiling, they found themselves on the floor of Steve’s room, holding their medals beside each other, watching the light play off the gold.

“Thank you,” Steve said after a while. “Mostly for never betting against us.”

She thought about saying something cheeky to keep things light. Instead: “Thank you for never giving me a reason to.”

She bumped his shoulder softly. He bumped back, smiling.

Continue here...

#steggyweek2k18 #Steggy fic #Steve Rogers #Peggy Carter #Steve/Peggy #Steggy #if you didn't see this coming you have no one to blame but me entirely and I'm so sorry

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