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cirilla-fiona-riannon · 11 months ago

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Galileo Galilei Main Story

Translations may not always capture the exact nuances or tone of the original text. Expect grammatical errors and inaccuracies.

Before the morning sun fully rose, I, completely awake, decided to take a bath to calm my nerves, even just a little.

I breathed a sigh of relief as my tensed body, gripped by fear, relaxed in the warm water.

(What was that dream? It almost felt so real.)

(My father in the dream was a vampire, and the people chasing us were called vampire hunters.)

(Also...)

------------Flashback-----------

Father: "Please, at least spare my daughter! She's done nothing wrong! She was simply born as a dhampir!"

---------Flashback Ends--------

(The "me" in the dream was a dhampir.)

Comte told me that a dhampir is a hybrid born between a human and a pureblood vampire.

Some purebloods despised humans, while others sought coexistence or even loved them. He also mentioned that Dhampirs are very rare.

(Why did I dream of becoming a dhampir?)

(Come to think of it...)

On the day I came to this mansion, before I knew everyone's true identities, I had a dream of being bitten by a vampire.

(I wonder if there's any meaning to this dream as well.)

Unable to fully digest my doubts, I looked up and saw the skylights were already being obscured by the morning glow.

As noon approached, I arrived at the university where Isaac worked and walked through the corridors while scanning the surroundings.

Mitsuki: "The president said the research lab is in this building."

Mitsuki: "I need to give Isaac his lunch and Blanc and then deliver this to the neighboring research lab."

In addition to the basket in my hand, there was a bundle of papers.

I was walking around the campus when the university president suddenly asked me to deliver this.

------------Flashback-----------

President: "If you're visiting Ayscough, could you deliver this paper to the adjacent research room?"

President: "I borrowed it, but I have urgent matters to attend to. It'd be a great help if you could do me this favor. The name of the professor it's for is..."

---------Flashback Ends--------

Mitsuki: "Alinbert Maury. Oh, here it is."

Having reached the destination, I decided to take care of the task first and knocked on the door.

???: "Come in."

Immediately, a resolute male voice came from inside.

Mitsuki: "Excuse me. I have a delivery for Professor Maury..."

(Huh?)

The man, who had been facing the bookshelf, turned towards me, and I involuntarily swallowed my words.

There stood the man with the amethyst eyes from that mysterious garden yesterday.

There was no way I could have mistaken his silvery-white hair or his outfit.

(No way. I can't believe I'm seeing him again. Is this really him?)

Maury: "You're the one from yesterday..."

I snapped back to reality when he suddenly spoke up.

(Right, I need to apologize for yesterday!)

Mitsuki: "Um, I..."

Maury: "How long are you going to stand there? Come inside."

Before I could continue, Professor Maury calmly addressed me.

After being allowed into the research lab, I bowed my head again.

Mitsuki: "I'm Mitsuki. I apologize for intruding into the garden yesterday!"

Mitsuki: "I was walking around town and happened to stumble upon that place."

Maury: "........."

Seemingly intrigued by something, he lightly raised one eyebrow.

Maury: "You're not a student here, are you? So, why are you here today?"

Mitsuki: "I came to the university to see Professor Ayscough and to deliver these documents the president asked me to."

Mitsuki: "I didn't realize you were Professor Maury. So..."

Maury: "I see. Another coincidence, perhaps."

He murmured as I handed over the documents and looked at him, despite feeling a bit tense in his presence.

(He looks like the same person as when we parted ways yesterday, but...)

The atmosphere was completely different when he was eating the red flowers in the garden.

It felt so ephemeral, almost like it could vanish into thin air.

Maury: "I've received the documents."

Mitsuki: "Then, I'll be going now."

I tried to excuse myself, but he suddenly looked up from the papers and gazed at me intently.

Maury: "Some say that when coincidences pile up, they become inevitable."

Maury: "Even turning into destiny."

(Destiny?)

Maury: "What do you think?"

(What do I think?)

He gave me a cold, emotionless gaze while I was still trying to figure out his unexpected question.

(I don't know. Is there even a right answer for this?)

Without understanding the intention behind his question, I looked back at him and honestly replied.

Mitsuki: "Sorry, I don't know how to answer that, but..."

Maury: "But?"

Mitsuki: "Whether it's coincidence or fate, I think it's up to each person how they perceive and choose to interpret it."

Maury: "So, it's up to oneself to govern fate. Is that what you're saying?"

Mitsuki: "I didn't mean to make it sound so dramatic."

I couldn't tell what he was thinking, but his voice seemed to lower slightly toward me. Or maybe it was just my imagination.

(I feel like I didn't answer well.)

(But how could I answer such a difficult question out of the blue?)

It made me feel unsettled, like I was back in my student days.

Student: "Excuse me, Professor Maury, we have a question."

Without waiting for a response to the knock, the door to the laboratory opened, and several students entered the room, only stopping in their tracks upon seeing me.

Student: "Oh, sorry! If you're with a guest, we can come back later.”

Mitsuki: "No, it's okay! I'm done here, so I'll take my leave!"

Taking the chance to leave, I bowed and hastily exited the room.

Galileo: "Are you suggesting it's fate, then?"

Student: "Professor? Is everything alright?"

Galileo: "It's nothing."

Galileo, who had been glaring at the door through which Mitsuki left, turned on his heel as the student addressed him.

Galileo: "I'll fulfill my purpose until the end."

The words he muttered didn't reach anyone's ears.

*sigh*

(That was nerve-wracking.)

I stepped out of Professor Maury's room and let out a deep sigh.

Just then, the person I originally came to see arrived.

Isaac: "Mitsuki? Why are you coming out of Professor Maury's room?"

Mitsuki: "Isaac!"

After changing locations and explaining the situation while handing over his lunch, Isaac shrugged his shoulders in disbelief.

Isaac: "I see. I'll talk to the university president about this later."

Isaac: "Even though he's someone I know, carelessly handing important documents to someone is a big no-no."

Despite his complaints, Isaac's demeanor seemed to convey a sense of familiarity with the president, and he chuckled.

Although he had mentioned before that he struggled with socializing, it seemed like his job as a professor was going smoothly.

Isaac: "Anyway, when you came out of the room earlier, you looked kinda tense."

Mitsuki: "Oh, that. I was just feeling nervous around Professor Maury."

Mitsuki: "Hey, Isaac, what kind of person is he?"

I asked, and Isaac tilted his head slightly.

Isaac: "I don't really hang out with him much, but he's an astronomy professor and quite knowledgeable in physics. I find discussions with him quite fun."

Isaac: "But the students are intimidated by him. They call him 'the wrangler' behind his back."

Mitsuki: "The wrangler? T-That's quite an aggressive nickname."

(He doesn't look like he was into fighting, though.)

Isaac: "Just so you know, it's not like he gets into physical fights or anything."

Isaac: "Whether with students or professors, if something doesn't make sense, he'll relentlessly pursue it until he exposes the mistake."

Isaac: "Do you know Galileo Galilei?"

Isaac: "He lived a bit before my time."

Mitsuki: "Yeah, he's the famous guy who said, 'And yet it moves.' He's really popular."

Isaac: "Well, Galileo was of a similar type, and he was called a 'wrangler' too."

Isaac: "If Galileo lived in our time, he'd definitely be like Professor Maury, hence the nickname."

Mitsuki: "I see!"

(That's the first time I've heard that about Galileo.)

Isaac: "I need to get ready for my next lecture. Thanks for bringing my lunch."

Mitsuki: "Sure. Good luck, Isaac."

As I waved goodbye to Isaac, I found myself nodding in agreement with what I had learned.

(Professor Maury sure gives off a vibe that doesn't tolerate mistakes.)

(I just talked to him a little yesterday and today, but I could imagine him relentlessly pushing someone without much respect.)

(But I guess it's only natural for a researcher.)

I suddenly thought he might be the type who goes after the truth and faces it head-on, with no compromises.

That night.

I had another nightmare.

Mitsuki: "Nnn...ugh..."

(It's hot. It's hard to breathe.)

(Is this a dream or reality?)

In a certain room, "I" was lying on the bed.

My body, unable to move as I wanted due to a high fever, was being worriedly watched by my parents.

Mother: "I'm sorry for making you suffer like this."

Boy: "Mom, Dad, I don't want to die."

Father: "It's okay. You were born miraculously, so you'll definitely pull through."

At that moment, rude footsteps barged into the room.

Mother: "You!"

Pureblood man: "We cannot let you disgrace our clan anymore."

The eldest among the men who had barged in spoke to my mother, whose face turned pale.

Pureblood man: "You, a noble pureblooded vampire, dared to mate with a lowly human male."

Pureblood man: "What's more, you've given birth to this vile half-breed!!"

The old man pointed at me with eyes full of hatred and disdain.

Pureblood man: "We do not acknowledge the existence of impure blood like yours, nor do we recognize those who produced such impurities."

Pureblood man: "Kill the woman and this kid now!"

Father: "Stop! Don't lay a hand on my wife and son!"

Mother: "No, don't! Run!!"

In my hazy vision, my father, who shielded my mother and me, was attacked by the vampires.

The blood drained from his skin, and his body, drained of life, collapsed to the floor.

Mother: "Please, Master! Please spare my son!"

My mother, covered in blood from being stabbed, still clung to the old man, but he raised his sword.

(Ah, they'll kill me again.)

He plunged his sword deep into my chest, along with the bed.

As my vision turned red and my consciousness faded, all I could think was:

(Why am I hated?)

(Why am I being killed just because I was born a "dhampir"?)

Previous Part ╎ Masterlist ╎ Side Story 1

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevamp jp #ikevamp galileo #ikevamp translations #ikevamp spoilers #cybird #galileo galilei

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zeondraws · 1 month ago

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I may be blind and have not tried to explore all the file locations in fmodel until now.

Found where the map textures are located, or for example all the people that died like Jamie, Kelly and all. I finally got a good look at Kelly!

This here be Kelly

Poor bastard

Okay, with this in mind I'll go through all folders in fmodel at some point, I have to see what else I can find. Found some unused/to be deleted folders which I found interesting

Hhmmm yes

So much work ahead, it really eats away my time, I've noticed, couldn't finish artworks recently. Mostly tried to work on that one AU drawing to have it almost done. But all this research eats my time which results in less time for art. Then I watch everyone else draw so much and I sit there thinking, man..

When I listen to soundfiles I can't draw at the same time since I need to stay focused on the sounds. However I managed to listen through 2k yesterday. I really really wanna be sure I have all the sounds for the Muir video, I literally found a different version of a perch howl yesterday! That one was not inside the actual Muir folder.

raaaah, the lore thickens. This could mean I can stumble upon other soundfiles from Muir that aren't in his Puppet folder. I only have... 16000 files to go through now. Number is getting smaller (I managed to listen to over 8.000 now).

If anyone ever wonders if I'll make a video of the soundfiles of other Puppets... maybe.. but I'd have to sort all these darn soundfiles from the Media folder. It's probably why people before me didn't bother at all. It took me over 2h and 30min to listen to 2000 files. Now calculate how much I need for 16000

Hhhmmm forbidden gummi, these are from Roper-

But hm, I currently want to finish that one artwork, then I need to sit down and draw something for a friend of mine for Secret Santa. Want to finish this Muir video before the year ends (I want to see it finished soooo badly). And maybe continue that super detailed Muir painting I had to put on hold, due to moving. The one I mean is shown on my pinned post here, that already took days to make and I'm not even halfway done with it. I want to see how far I can push my render skills atm.

Oh and draw a bunch of buses again, but on paper to get better with traditional art.

I always had problems managing my time (nothing new for me, so don't be confused if I do 6273728 things at once XD), tho I probably will figure out how to deal with this at some point. I always got yelled at, at my old workplace for taking too long on things, even tho my coworker kept giving me new tasks to work on so I couldn't finish the first thing he wanted, so he became more angry at me if I spend 3 weeks on something. Or spend 3 days on a task he usually finishes in 1 day, like. What? Like, he became soooo weird about it, that he tried to be angry about anythiiiing. And then he got confused when he heard what I told other coworkers in private. When he said that, I got flashbacks to my other uncle being angry that I told teachers how bad I felt mentally (at school). This is so confusing

I got praised for my work in the new job, which is wild that they don't expect me to work like a machine but to take my time. People aren't so focused on speed here.

So I don't know if my way of working on things is super bad, or if it's just dunno, big projects require so much energy and time. And then I watch everyone do so much art and I'm like waaaaiiit I wanna draw too Aaaaaaa. I wish I could eat art, because I frkn love art so much I shake my fists in the air whenever I see gorgeous artworks from others. Or see some absolutely stunning moviessssss.

I need to buy frames- I need to hang some drawings.

Okay Fellas, imma go tidy up my apartment and sort some stuff. I still have something to do in my bathroom.

busbusbusbusbusbusbusbusbusbusbbusbusbusbusbusbus

#eat the forbidden Roper gummi

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silverlininghills · 2 years ago

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answering the question "are clancy and tyler the same person?" once and for all

SO.

clancy.

one of the biggest narrative sticking points for both the fandom at large as well as me specifically has been the question of whether tyler and clancy are the same person. many people point to clancy's letter description of the events of the jumpsuit music video as proof that they're not, while others point to the reference to the "out of body account of the rider in the river" as proof that they are. it definitely felt like a contradiction to me when i was first diving into the lore last year. and while i understood that this narrative was a) being told in a very non-traditional manner and b) extremely fluid and almost dreamlike in its overall structure, that contradiction still bothered me.

and then i had an epiphany: clancy wasn't tyler, and now he is. it's simple, really.

let me explain:

the theory that i had initially come up with to try to explain the discrepancy, at least to myself, was that clancy was tyler's avatar within the narrative (basically his self-insert). he was the "jumpsuit" that tyler covered himself with in order to exist in this fictional world. so while he may exist independently of clancy (such as in the trench trilogy), he also existed as clancy when needed (such as during the events of the SAI livestream and music videos). the distinction between the two still felt weirdly uhhh consistently inconsistent to me, but i figured either we were missing a piece or that that was just how the narrative was meant to feel.

but then!! yesterday!! i was doing research for the aforementioned blurryface = clancy theory, and i stumbled upon an interview with andrew donoho, who directed all the "lore" music videos for the band. i have no idea how like, well known this interview is amongst the fandom, but I've yet to see anyone refer to it when discussing the "is clancy tyler" conundrum, despite the fact that it includes some VERY interesting bits:

"The daunting part was, they built this entire world--everything from Clancy to Tyler's role, to the band's role, to different pieces of TRENCH, all this stuff--and I had to find a way to bite off a nine-minute piece of that.

"...imagine reading Lord of the Rings and they say, 'Okay, so don't make anything that's in the novels, but make something in this world, and it can only be nine minutes and it has to be profound and show everything and have every single tie into the the allegory and the metaphor of the album.' Like, great."

to me, this pretty conclusively confirms that the events of the trench trilogy were not meant to be clancy, but instead either a) tyler himself or b) yet another dema inhabitant who was just played by tyler.

to drive that point home even further, andrew goes on to describe the actual creation process for dmaorg:

The Clancy story was something really fun. The first meeting with everybody we were talking about like how we would market TRENCH and if there was a way to open up the world to the super-fans that wanted to know more with a story that wasn't Tyler’s story. Because, again, they built this world that was so rich.

welp. there it is. a story that wasn't Tyler's story. Clancy was intended to be just another inhabitant of Dema whose story would be told, not through the album, but purely through the posts on dmaorg.

there's also this quote from tyler the first time he was asked about clancy in an interview:

Clancy's uh... I've heard about him. But I don't-- I don't-- I know we're from the same place.

"heard about" but not met. all he knows is that they're from the same place (dema).

so that settles it then, right? Clancy ≠ Tyler. so glad we could clear that up!

...not quite.

because here's the thing. this is not tyler and josh's story. twenty one pilots is not tyler and josh's band.

it's ours. and so is this story.

don't just take my word for it, either:

TJ: This record is… They really did help write it. This thing wouldn't be breathing without them. They helped create this world, as well.

TJ: They are also building the world, like I said. We’re very… Not to come off as on that stalker level, but I do watch them. […]what does that fan that really understands and has tracked with me up until this point -- how is this hitting them? And the story builds from there, man.

TJ: Once the fans got a hold of it and started to digest it it even brought it more to life you know? Watching the story come to life. So I'm excited to dive back into it at some point.

now, here's where i came up short: i swear i read or listened to an interview where tyler specifically talks about making changes to the story based on fan interpretations/ideas, but i cannot for the life of me find it now. if anyone remembers when or where (or if!) he said that and has a link, it would be immensely appreciated. but regardless, it's safe to say that we are all active participants in the creation of this story.

and what is something that we consistently speculated about, pretty much right from the moment we met clancy?

that he and tyler were the same person.

now, note the timeline here: they had probably already created at least the first couple clancy letters by the time dmaorg went live + was found by fans; same with the original trilogy of music videos (donoho specifically mentioned working on the treatments while dmaorg was being updated--and mentioned not being told about the updates ahead of time!). the last letter went live july 18th, exactly one week after the release of the jumpsuit music video, and tbh it sounds like the end of clancy's story, especially based on the narrative arc of both the trilogy and the album as a whole. clancy has left dema, is both frightened and enthralled by trench, and wonders both where he's going and whether leaving in the first place might’ve been a mistake. i fully believe this was intended to be the end of clancy's story.

but again. tyler and his team aren't the only ones telling it.

so what happened after that post? well, the album was released, tyler and josh rejoined social media, they did a bunch of fan press conferences, and then they toured a bunch.

and what did the clique do? well, they created. i wasn't around during that time, but i've seen enough clique art and meta and musings to get an idea of what the reaction was. it was clear that a) people were FASCINATED by trench and dema and all the rest of it and also b) that people LOVED clancy. they speculated about his history, his future, his connection to tyler, his place in the overall narrative.

they brought him to life.

and so clancy lived. the next dmaorg update coincided with the chlorine music video and revealed that he had been "returned" to dema by keons. bleak and ambiguous as the letter may have been, it was proof that clancy's story wasn't over just yet.

tantalizingly, tyler also revealed in an interview in march 2019 (so after clancy's "resurrection" but obviously before the world imploded and their plans got waylaid) that the next album would feature “a character that hasn’t been talked about on any record yet that plays a huge role in the narrative". was this clancy, who tyler had already confirmed "wasn't on [trench]"? or was this someone completely new?

welp, who knows because almost exactly one year later covid happened and everything got thrown out the window.

...except then the LOC ARG happens and the clique finds an encoded message on tyler's TV that says Clancy Is Dead, and then the name of the next album + accompanying Feature Performance Event is released and it turns out to be an anagram which also states that Clancy Is Dead.

so was he?

well, the clique had learned a couple other things by that point, such as:

1) SAI is propaganda

2) the views and opinions expressed on [Scaled and Icy] are those of the Sacred Municipality of Dema

and of course,

3) we don't believe what's on TV

so like. yeah. "clancy is dead". sure he is. whatever the truth may be, at least the fans knew not to take anything coming from the band at that point at face value.

as far as the SAI era goes, i think the most important thing to note is that, while writing the album, tyler himself didn’t even know if it would be a continuation of the narrative or not:

TJ: So the question is, with shows off the table for the time being, does this mean we should hit pause on this narrative? Or do we somehow try to weave it into the narrative, which is not totally the intention? I’m not really sure which direction we’re gonna go yet.

personally, i suspect they were leaning more towards the “not” side of things. the livestream definitely takes place within the world of dema, but it’s not really a continuation of the story so much as a technicolour fever dream (appropriate for the height of a viral pandemic i guess lol). once again, like dmaorg, i believe tyler expected this album to be an accompaniment to the lore, but not itself part of the story.

i have a whole, like, interpretation and breakdown of the “story” of the livestream that i am not gonna get into here bc this thing is already a beast, but suffice it to say that the livestream reads a lot more like an in-universe retelling of tyler’s story than anything else. does it heavily feature imagery and themes from the lore? yeah, of course. but it exists in this weird wonderland-esque dreamspace anyway, so that makes sense to me.

anyway. yeah. livestream as originally intended = not part of the dema/trench storyline.

and yet. you know the clique and their tendency to take the things the band gives them and run with them. i definitely have seen lots of speculation regarding whether tyler is tyler in the livestream or clancy, and i can’t say that i blame people for wondering! again, the ambiguous nature of the narrative lends itself to multiple interpretations. do i think it was intended that way at first? nah. but once again, the clique made the story their own, and tyler had no choice but to try to keep up.

the next time we hear from clancy isn’t until almost a full year after the livestream–well, okay, we get another lil “clancy is dead” easter egg in the saturday music video, but that’s nothing we haven’t heard before (nice try though tyler). what really fascinates me is the almost complete 180 in terms of tone and narrative structure between the first two music videos + livestream—all of which were created before the fans had been introduced to the new era—and the saturday + the outside mvs, which would’ve been created after. in my opinion, that’s where we once again see the clique’s influence at work. suddenly the narrative is not only back but barreling forward. the SAI era is no longer a diversion but a true continuation.

with that return to form comes clancy’s first letter in over three years, and wouldn’t’cha know it, it perfectly describes the events of the livestream AND the saturday music video, thereby confirming that clancy is tyler after all! mystery solved! thank you for coming to my—

—except, wait. the evidence so clearly pointed to clancy not being tyler before. tyler himself even said so! what gives? was tyler lying then? is clancy lying now? is there some secret third option that no one has considered yet?

…well, yeah. there kind of is. the third option is that both have been and still are true, because as the story hasn’t just progressed, it’s changed. changed because it stopped existing just inside tyler’s head, or in the 60 page trench bible; it started existing out here, with us. it changed because we changed it. we reached our collective hands into the narrative and pulled our blorbo from the brink of oblivion and shoved him right back into the narrative where he belongs. when you really think about it, that makes us the ghost in the machine. the implications of that idea alone make my head spin.

anyway, we get one more letter from clancy the very next day to coincide with the release of the outside’s music video. in it, he contemplates the new psychokinetic power he’s received, how familiar it feels, and he begins to understand. he may be referring to the bishops and vialism, but as always, the narrative trappings of this world are merely a reflection of ours. because yes, you can look at it as clancy gaining the ability to possess “available vessels” using the antlers of a magical creature. but you can also look at it as the moment when tyler officially became clancy in the narrative using the power of creativity and imagination (and, of course, a little help from some friends), and in so doing, gained the power to maybe, finally, turn the tide in this seemingly endless internal war. after all, as the caption on this instagram post says:

this is a story about cycles, and trying to break them. about discerning between external and internal attacks. and about balance. a balance between being saved by a friend, and saving yourself.

in summary: i truly don’t believe clancy and tyler were ever intended to be the same person. what he was meant to be (a facet of tyler, a representative of the clique, or someone/something else entirely), i’m not sure, though of course i have my theories. honestly, i don’t believe clancy was meant to exist beyond the handful of letters we got from him in 2018. i believe the only reason he endured is because we willed him to. and now, as we head into the endgame of this incredible story we’ve all been creating together, this character (who was destined to die by his creator but was saved by his fans) has become perhaps the most important player on the board. and personally? i can’t wait to see what he becomes next.

#twenty one pilots #lore #dema #clancy #trench #TØP #connecting the dots #my meta #mostly written while sleep deprived at 2 in the morning so like. be gentle with me #feels good tho to actually be WRITING meta instead of just incoherently screaming abt it #god it seems so obvious to me now #like this is barely even a revelation #it's just like. basic reading comprehension #in any case i hope ppl find this interesting #would love to hear your thoughts #anyway time to go pass out now

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donnerpartyofone · 6 months ago

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Several years ago when I was consistently finding myself awake between 2 and 5am and wondering what I should do about this, I literally stumbled upon a book in the street that blended research into the cultural history of this sleep pattern with a treatise on the phenomenon of the Black Madonna. This drew me into a series of synchronistic experiences that had begun before the discovery of the book and continued to unfurl, and I would probably sound pretty insane if I described the whole thing in detail, which I will not do. But I think that the nature of existence is so unavoidably subjective that there is nothing inherently wrong with conscientiously developing and indulging your own belief system, so long as it isn't causing you to abuse others or "fly" off the top of a building or anything else that interferes with your ability to function. Besides which I'm such a deeply agnostic person that I don't think "belief system" totally applies to my process. I'm not really interested in religion as dogma, but I am interested in it as a record of how human beings grapple with chaos and mystery.

I try to be super aware of my attraction to synchronicity though, I think that it is not usually a good idea to project that the Universe or whatever is trying to communicate something specific to you personally. Mytholigizing is OK if the results are healthy and you're still assuming responsibility for your choices, we all to do a little narrativizing from time to time to give things meaning and to establish a sense of progress. This all came up for me yesterday because I know that the folks at church are starting to wonder if I'll convert, and of course I can never ever explain to them what I'm really doing there. Sometimes I imagine myself converting and just keeping my esoteric reasons to myself, but I just don't think I can promise anybody that I believe in the literal, historical reality of the New Testament. I also feel like the history of the Catholic Church is so vast and complicated that I could never gain a responsible understanding of what I was actually subscribing to. So I was walking around my neighborhood, thinking about all the reasons that wouldn't work for me, when once again I stumbled upon a book in the street. The book was a memoir chronicling an academic atheist's journey to embracing the Catholic Church. I thought, Oh goddammit I can't deal with this. I mean I COULD ignore it, but then I'll just be like WONDERING about it...so I took it home and snuck it out of my bag after I went off to bed. And to my great relief, it was the most annoying thing imaginable, I couldn't get through more than a couple of pages of it. It wasn't well-written despite the author's bragged-about credentials, and it also wasn't written for a general audience (or if it was meant to be, it failed instantly); it was really by and for smug religious people, if it had anything to offer the unconverted I couldn't detect it at all. It only seemed to underline that as per the horseshoe theory of ideology, staunch atheists have more in common with religious zealots than they do with the rest of us. The arrogant, condescending, self-righteous unbeliever is really not that different from the arrogant, condescending, self-righteous fanatic, and when you realize this it comes as absolutely no surprise at all that one could transform into the other. People who are absolutely convinced that they have a complete and perfect grasp of the whole of reality are just, like, not very good in my opinion. I'm so glad it turned out that I am not controlled by synchronicities and I can't wait to put that book back out on the street.

But then, just to fuck with me, today turned out to be the feast day of the Apostle Thomas, the doubting one who sticks his fingers in Jesus's VIDEODROME hole. The monseigneur gave a very impressive homily that seemed to be about me personally and everybody knew it. I'm the only person there who is under 50 and/or who did not grow up in this (or any) religious community, and so when he began to speak about the craving for empirical proof among "young people in their 20s, or their 30s, or their 40s..." I'm sure it was quite impossible not to think about my bizarre presence among them for the last year and a half. He talked about how Saint Thomas is one of his favorites because only doubt can produce the kinds of questions that, if pursued, can produced a faith that is totally personal and not just passively absorbed from one's society. Then a big point was made of praying for, among the usual suspects, "the seekers" who are searching for God in their own way, perhaps without fully realizing it. I'm glad I forgot my glasses since it meant that I had to keep my eyes closed to keep from straining and squinting, because sustained eye contact with the priest would have made me shrivel up like a mummy.

In the middle he quoted Saint Anselm saying (approx) "Belief seeks understanding," which is something I don't fully grock. It has something to do with taking a leap of faith, maybe, in assuming the truth of a principle so that you can penetrate deeply enough to fully comprehend its meaning. That sounds pretty hard to me, but I guess people do it all the time with all sorts of different things that seem--but may not be--objectively real.

After the service one of the parishioners came up behind me and made a point of saying how good the homily was, and then someone else ran up on me about volunteer opportunities. Actually I wouldn't mind volunteering. They do a regular thing where they make sandwiches for the poor, and the only reason I don't do it is that I'm clumsier than anyone could possibly imagine. Like I'm 100% sure I would make such a big mess that it would do more harm than good. But I could probably handle the thing where they give out clothing to migrants, that sounds really hard to fuck up and like a positive thing regardless of what organization it's attached to. I'd probably rather join the Cathode Ray Mission, but I'll take what I can get.

#star of the sea

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dollish-shard · 1 year ago

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Subject #45

(CW: Death, emotional repression)

She ducks under the clumsy sword swing, falling back into a roll and springing to her feet, stumbling only slightly as she dodges another strike. She grips the knife in her hand tightly, looking for an opening, but finding none.

The boy, her opponent, swings his blade again and again with wild and desperate abandon. Gaunt and emancipated body covered in a diode speckled skintight suit, eyes wild and full of terror… he was her mirror. Just like everyone else in this forsaken place.

Her eyes dart up, to the observation window. Figures in lab coats, watching from behind shaded glass. Always watching, always taking notes. Tests upon tests upon tests…

They only cared about the data. Nothing else. Not their subjects.

She makes a misstep and trips, falling backwards onto the cold metal floor. The boy, her enemy, older than her only by a few years and yet still just a child, looks at her with apologetic eyes. *I have no choice.* He seems to say. *I’m sorry.*

The blade swings down.

*NO!*

A sound rings out in her head; like shattering glass. A comforting presence behind her, the boy’s eyes widening, a white glow… he locks up, freezing in place. His sword drops from his fingers and clatters to the ground.

She doesn’t squander the opportunity; she dares now. With a scream she leaps to her feet and dive forward, talking him to the ground and raising her knife. For a moment, their eyes meet.

She squeezes hers shut. She can’t bear to look.

She brings her knife down.

The blade makes a sickening squelch as it pierces flesh. She wrenches it free and stabs down again, and again, and again. He screams, struggling, but as the knife penetrates his chest, his neck, those screams turn to gurgles, his flailing growing weaker.

Soon, both stop.

She dares to open her eyes, at last.

Blood. So much blood. It’s all over her knife and her hands and her body and-

The thing she’s on top of isn’t a person anymore. Her brain refuses to register it as such. She stares at the face and the hollow eyes and blood and she sees nothing and everything is red-

She lets out a haunting wail.

From behind their veil of protection, the researchers watch the girl they call Subject #45 with interest. Behind her floats the manifestation of her power, soul rippling into tangible space. In her agony, it rages, rending at reality.

She curls up in a ball and sobs. Her knife lies forgotten on the corpse of Subject #23; a disappointment. Both of them had been projected to manifest. But a single manifestation was still well worth the loss of a subject.

The manifestation fades. It didn’t exist for long, but the data is invaluable. The scientists speak among themselves a bit; clearly, #45 shows promise. More testing will be needed to gauge her full potential.

She’s escorted back to her holding cell, walking with glassy eyes like a corpse. She has no awareness, moving solely in response to stimuli. She slumps down on her bed and lies there, staring at the ceiling. At some point, she falls asleep, she must. But she doesn’t notice.

A scientist visits her the next day, to ask questions. She looks at them with hollow eyes, no emotion held in her face at all.

“Do you know Subject #23?” They ask.

“No.” She replies. Her voice is listless, perfectly devoid of feeling.

“He is dead. Do you know why?” They ask.

“No.” She replies. “And I don’t care.”

“Do you remember yesterday’s test?” They ask.

“No.” She replies.

The scientist scribbles some things down on their clipboard. “I see.” They say, eventually.

Her unfocused eyes seem to stare both right through them and at nothing at all.

“You will undergo another test in 3 hours. Be prepared.” The scientist says. They leave, and she is alone again.

She continues to stare hollowly.

He wouldn’t be the last person she kills. In the tests, and beyond them. Most, she also wouldn’t remember.

She doesn’t remember a part of her died that day, too.

#empty spaces #microfiction #shard's stories #trauma #death #if you recognize this no you don't

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sirthisisa-wendys · 3 years ago

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Investigations (Part 3): Ran Haitani x Fem!Reader

synopsis: when things are uncovered, can you handle the truth? Or are you doomed to make a mistake you can't rectify?

wc: 2.1k

tw: violence

masterlist

song recommendation:

Ran's past was a lie.

When you met him at the country club five years ago, your pasts had been explained in hushed tones and excited flurries of memories; sharing photos of the time before he was an executive of the communications company he worked in and the time before you were a journalist.

Ran said he had gone to jail twice, both for crimes he had been an accessory to as a delinquent kid, but that he'd cleaned up his act after and made his way up the corporate ladder. Nothing about gangs or being a Heavenly King in Tenjiku made it past his lips.

You had been honest, too. Your tales included the time you'd accidentally happened upon a massive gang fight, and that's how your investigative journalism skills began to bloom.

Who was fighting?

What were they going to do after?

Where did these gangs come from?

When did this argument start?

Why were they fighting?

How did gangs form in the first place?

Those were all the questions you sought out answers for that night and the next five years after, devoting your time and effort to finding the truth about everything.

"Babe?" You freeze, hands hovering over the keys at the sound of Ran's voice. You don't turn around - you can't even look at him the same these days - but he fixes that by walking over to you and turning you around in your chair. "What are you doing up so late?"

"Just doing some writing." His violet eyes search yours for the truth, but you know he won't be able to find it. Not while you're still trying to unravel his past. Ran kisses your eyelids sweetly, cupping your face in his large palms and littering his love across your face as you try your best to remain still and not confess about your research.

"Come to bed. It's late."

"I've got a few more paragraphs," you explain, motioning to the small print on your screen. "I'll be in bed soon."

But your lie is discovered shortly thereafter. It's five a.m. when Ran returns, seeing you slumped against your desk, arms cushioning your head, laptop screen blank. Instinctively, Ran pulls you out of your seat - making your notebook fall to the ground - grunting softly as he scoops you up into his arms and cradles you against his chest.

You willingly allow your husband to carry you to bed, where your two-year-old is also nestled among the sheets and pillows, thumb tucked into his mouth. And for a moment, Ran appreciates the view, seeing the two people he loved the most - besides his younger brother - laying in the bed he paid for, in the house he built, in the city he owns.

But then he remembers the slight disarray you left your things in at the desk and returns, picking up your pencil and notebook before laying them beside the laptop. Then his eyes catch "Ran's past?" written in bold, red letters, along with the words: "Tenjiku" and "Tandai" also written in the web of other words surrounding his name. "South Terano" is also on that web.

He'd have to take care of that in the morning.

And for the first time in a long time, worry bubbles to the surface of his mind, and Ran rips the sheet of paper from your notebook, tossing it into the kitchen trashcan and considering his deed done. He concealed his past to protect his family. And he's concealing the present to achieve the same goal; all for the future to be revealed later. That's how everything should be.

Right? _____________________________________________________________

"Ran," you whisper, lips running across his knuckles. His fingers cup your jaw, and his own lips press against your forehead, violet eyes darkening slightly. "It's six am. Where are you going this early?"

"I have to go into the office for a little while," he murmurs, kissing your forehead again. "I'll be back around lunchtime." Thoughts of Tandai and Tenjiku flash into your mind for a moment, but you smile at him sleepily anyway, absolutely sure these things are part of his past and not in the present.

"We'll be waiting for you, my love."

Despite all of your best intentions, though, you can't help but be consumed by the idea of Ran out, fighting, stealing, maiming... You consider asking him about these things, these concerns, but you decide against it as you're helping Kai with his lunch. If he wanted to leave it in the past, there's a good reason for it. He would have told you if it would be a problem later. Right?

Ran wouldn't jeopardize your family, your home, your life for something so... juvenile.

Right?

The clatter of keys on the counter in the living room brings you back to the present, and you perk up, your two-year-old mimicking your expression.

"Daddy!" Kai slides down from his seat and runs to greet Ran, clutching his father's legs with all his little might.

"Hey, buddy," Ran laughs, stooping to pick up his son with excitement. "How are you doing?" As son and father have a very stimulating conversation about playtime, you watch them in wonder, observing the way Ran makes his child a priority, just like he makes you a priority. But your countenance falls as soon as you see the blood spot on the bottom of Ran's lavender suit jacket. You know its blood because of the way it dried - that's no ketchup stain.

You fake a smile anyway, giving Ran a kiss on the cheek and tugging his jacket off after he sits Kai back on the tile floor.

"Hard day?"

"Kind of," Ran mumbles, and you catch the sight of a long scratch down the side of his neck. "But I made it through." You hum, taking the pin-striped jacket to the laundry room and slinging it over the side of the washer. You'd need that later.

"Need to relax?" you wonder, and Ran grins at you mischievously.

"Maybe later, after bedtime?"

_____________________________________________________________

But "later" never came.

Instead, Ran and Kai fell asleep on the sofa, watching a kid's movie, and you retreated to the office, powering up your laptop and pulling your notebook closer.

You immediately notice something's wrong, as the notes you had before were missing. Everything is gone. Not even a word of all the research you had done was there. Hadn't you written meticulous notes and names and things about Ran's past that could be interconnected? You break out in a sweat and search in every drawer of the desk, every place it could possibly be. You come up with nothing, and let out a frustrated sigh before slumping down in your seat and pulling up the computer history from yesterday. If you had to rewrite every single thing, that's fine. You'd just need more time to gather your evidence for the meeting on Saturday.

You're knee-deep in articles and police reports when you stumble across a more recent - actually as recent as this morning - article titled: "Ex-gangster found dead in meat factory". The picture of South Terano startles you, and you click on it, feeling a sense of dread as the article details how he was found hanging upside-down in the warehouse with a bullet hole in his head. And just like that, your newest lead has fizzled out. You groan, writing down "South Terano, deceased" on your notepad, then exiting the tab.

There had to be someone else you could ask. Shuji Hanma only provided you with Ran and Rindou's names, no one else.

"What's this?"

The door to the office shuts softly, and you look over your shoulder at Ran, who is walking toward you with measured steps, his eyes taking in your exhausted expression and the way you're hunched over that notepad. Again.

"What are you doing? You look tired, babe. Let's go to bed, yeah?"

Suddenly, pieces begin to click as Ran leans his hip against the desk, staring down at you in the chair with squinted violet eyes. "You threw away my notes... Didn't you?"

"What are you doing in my business, y/n?"

"Why didn't you tell me that you were in two gangs?" you counter, fingers shaking slightly. "Ran, this is something I needed to know before--"

"You wouldn't have married me if I told you." Ran's tone is cold, almost as if he's turned into the past version of himself without batting an eye.

"You don't know that." Ran leans forward, coming to eye level with you a smirking.

"I know you. And that's all I need." Ran reaches out a hand to close the laptop, still smiling and maintaining eye contact. "Now here's what you're going to do. First, you're going to stop digging into my past. There's nothing there that you need to find. Second, you're going to come to bed. It's late, you're tired. Finally," Ran cups your chin like he did this morning, except his fingers aren't so tender this time. "You're going to cut off contact with both Shuji Hanma and Taiju Shiba. I'm not really fond of either of them, and I'm not a fan of having them tell my business to my wife."

"They were only doing it because I asked."

"Taiju, maybe. Shuji isn't so eager to fuck you. I doubt he did it out of the kindness of his heart." You can't say anything to refute his claims. Ran is probably right. But you can't get one question out of your mind.

"Why are you trying to hide your past? What's there that I won't like?"

"What isn't there is the real question."

"What can you tell me about the gang that's just surfaced in Tokyo?" Ran's face slackens, transforming into a half-surprised, half-blank look that you realize is one that means he's been caught. "Oh, my fucking god," you breathe, tears stinging your eyes. "South, the fish, the murders, the crime... It's you. It's been you this whole time. I've been chasing my own husband down." Panic begins to set in, and your mind whirls around as you shake in your seat, bringing your hands up to your head. "Just tell me Rindou isn't in this," you breathe, but Ran doesn't answer you, still wearing that dumb look on his face. You let out a cry of shock, covering your mouth and trying to back away from Ran as much as you can.

The source is a lot closer than you think.

You slide down the wall, shocked into stillness as your sobs quiet, and Ran straightens up, placing his hands in his sweatpant pockets. The long nights, the early mornings, the bloodstains, the damn suits... It all led to this. Ran had never really left his old lifestyle behind. He'd gotten caught up in it, and brought you and Kai into it unknowingly.

"I never meant for it to get this... unhinged." You can't reply, tucking your knees into your chest as you stare past Ran and at the opposite wall, wondering how you'd missed the signs, the obvious signs that Ran was up to no good. "I know this is a lot to take in, but we can--"

"I can't stay here."

The words fall from your mouth and Ran flinches, shaking his head.

"No. You can't leave."

"Yes, I can," you mumble, standing and wiping your tears. "I can do whatever I need to do to keep Kai safe, and--"

"Kai is safer here than out there," Ran snaps, pointing at the window. "I'm not letting my son out of my sight. Your snooping has caused enough trouble as it is; I wouldn't have had to go and clean up this morning if you hadn't--"

"Don't blame this on me," you retort, pointing at Ran accusatorially. "You're the one who joined a gang and is still in one! What kind of role model are you for our son now?"

"I provide the best way I can," Ran grits out, clenching his fists. "You've never gone hungry, cold, or ill-clothed a day in your life while you were with me."

"I would rather die than enjoy a life paid for with blood money."

"Blood money? You really think--" You try to push past Ran, but he grabs your shoulders, yanking you back in front of him. "You're not going anywhere except to our bed."

"Let me go, Ran Haitani," you mutter, hands balling up into little fists. "Or I'll scream."

"Who will hear you? Kai?"

How had you been so foolish? Ran's lips press together momentarily as his violet eyes run over your figure, taking stock of all your five-foot-six stature. You're no match for Ran. Not mentally, and certainly not physically. Ran notices your defeat and his hands slide down to your wrists, tugging your delicate hands up to his chest.

"Everything will be fine," he whispers, drawing you close. "I'm taking care of us. Just trust me."

Just trust me.

#ran haitani x reader #ran haitani #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers

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raineydays411 · 4 years ago

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Trauma does really bond

Umbrella academy x teen!reader

Summary: You were number eight, The Healer. With the power to heal anything you touch. Or at least you would be, if the world knew about you.

A/n: I know I said new fics on Friday but I couldn’t wait lol

Everybody knows the story of the Umbrella Academy. Seven children, adopted by an eccentric billionaire, forced to become superheros and eventually fizzled out of the limelight.

But know one knows about you.

You were the eighth child Reginald Hargreeves adopted. You were Y/n Hargreeves, age 17. Everyone knows that the seven siblings were all born at the same time, and day. So how are you 17?

Well basically the same thing, but when your mother spontaneously gave birth to you, she handed you over to Reginald within a heartbeat and as far as he knows, you were the only spontaneous birth on y/bd. So he took you in. Now he wasn’t completely sire that you would get powers. For all he knew, your mother just didn’t want you. But all that changed when you were just 6 years old.

You had stumbled upon a mouse that was squirming in a mouse trap while exploring the attic. You felt so bad for the poor thing that you had set it free. You cradled it in your hands, as you teared up at the sight of it twitching when suddenly you felt it. It was like magic, you felt each bone and nerve that was broken heal until the mouse was once again moving, full of life. You ran out the attic, mouse in hand. Running all the way to your fathers office, barging in despite his protests.

“Y/n Hargreeves, how many times must I tell you--” “ I’m sorry father, but look!” you cut him off, thrusting the healed mouse towards him.

“Number eight. You interrupted my studies to show me vermin?”

“No father! I healed him! He was in the mouse trap and I healed him!” You exclaim. That caught Reginalds attention.

“You healed it?” He asks eyeing the mouse, “ How?”

“I dunno” you shrug, “ I just felt bad and touched him”

Reginald hums, standing from his desk and walks over to you.

“Come with me.” He says, leading you out the study with a hand on your back.

From then on he put you through brutal training. Nicking you with knives I see if you could heal yourself, bringing you hurt animals to heal, injured people. Then it escalated. He brought in people who were on the brink of death, comatose. He forced you to heal them, despite it taking all your energy. There were multiple times where you ended up collapsing, sobbing and exhausted from healing too many people in one day. He forced you to get up, and heal some more claiming,

“You have been given a gift. It would be selfish of you to hoard it just because you get a little tired”

Not to mention the brutal physical training. Because you had no siblings, he made training robots. They, unlike humans, did not hold back. Forcing you to fight as if you were actually trying to survive. And if you lost, you weren’t able to heal yourself.

Now all this training would have made some sense if you were going out into the world and saving lives. You weren’t. Reginald didn’t allow it. You were to stay on the premises, 24/7, 365 days a year. He claimed

“The world is cruel Number Eight. You are not yet ready to face the harshness that is reality. It is best to keep you here until you are.”

So alone you were. Well not totally alone, you did have Grace an Pogo. And you had Luther but all he did was missions and avoid you so he didn’t really count. But Grace and Pogo? They were your best friends. Grace was practically your mother. She sang to you, brushed your hair, tucked you in, told you about your “siblings”, and taught you how to bake and cook as well as other things. She like you, wasn’t allowed to leave, so you felt like she understood you. Pogo, taught you everything you know. He helped you learn seven languages, he sat and was forced to listen to you learn the piano, violin, and guitar, he was the one who snuck you Vanyas book and answered any questions that Grace couldn’t. And he was the one who sat with you in the attic as you both looked out at a city that didn’t know you existed.

You secretly longed for the day you were able to leave. If not training or doing school work, you could be found gazing out the attic window, or outside in the courtyard staring up at the sky. Despite being in a huge mansion, you felt trapped. You have read almost every book in the house, including Luthers research that he sent from the moon, Fives old theories, and Allison’s diary. You started meditating, yoga, and even picking up little hobbies like scrapbooking or candles making. You learned different ways to play chess, ballroom dancing ( your father insisted), how to read music, and so many other things. You were so smart and yet so naive. You, theoretically knew the cruel realities of the world, having read them in books and such. But you never experienced them. You had no human contact other than your father (and Luther till he was sent to the moon). You knew battlefield medic techniques but not simple everyday things. Hell, not even your so called siblings knew that you existed except Luther and he was sworn to secrecy. Not like he payed attention to you anyway. You weren’t even allowed to watch movies or listen to modern music. Just whatever records Luther had, and the Walkman you found up in the attic. But secretly, at night when you crept into the attic, you can see into the apartment across from you. Their large tv playing movies and you were able to watch. Playing classics like Dirty Dancing and Grease, action, and scary movies that scarred you for life. But it was your escape. You couldn’t hear the words but you made them up. A little world all to yourself, your little secret. You yearned for that moment when you could leave. Leave behind strict schedules and brutal training. Leave behind empty halls and loneliness. But you knew it wasn’t coming soon.

Not over your fathers dead body.

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

Your father is dead.

You didn’t realize it at first, having been extremely exhausted for some reason. You went to bed early saying good night to everyone and promptly passing out. But you know that your father was fine. Healthy even, as you could sense it with your powers. So when you woke up and reached out, sensing your family as you always did, you knew something was wrong. You couldn’t feel your father. Not how you used to. It felt like...like the dead bodies he used to force you to heal.

You leapt out of bed and dashed to his room, heart racing as you passed a humming Grace. You burst into the room, seeing him collapsed against the bed, limp and eyes closed.

“Nononono father?! Father can you hear me?!” You say rushing to his side. You feel for a pulse but find nothing, noticing his cold skin. You start CPR, like he trained you to do.

“ Father?! Father please!” You start to cry, tears running down your face as you race to save him. But deep down you knew...you couldn’t heal a dead body.

“ MOM” you scream desperately, starting to use your powers, “ POGO”

You start to get light head, your basically pouring your energy into this dead body. Your powers kickstart the healing process, accelerating it 10 times it’s usual rate allowing for quick healing. But if the bodies dead...it can’t heal itself and you basically just heal superficial wounds but not bring them back.

“Father...” you start to slur, you’re running out of energy and he still hasn’t woken up. “Father you have to wake up...don’t leave me...”

Your world starts spinning as you fight to stay awake. Desperate to save the man you consider as your father. But you collapse. The world fading in and out as you see two silhouettes hover over you.

“ oh y/n...” a voice softly says. You feel someone touch your head and you succumb to the darkness. Feeling helpless as you realize one thing.

Reginald Hargreeves is dead.

That night, around the country seven siblings find out that their father has died. And make plans to come home.

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

You were unconscious for the whole day.

You woke up letting yesterday’s events wash over you. You cry. Not for the man, cause let’s face it he’s an asshole, but because of what he represented. He was part of your family. Your world that only consisted of three.

And you couldn’t save him.

And let’s face it, he was your father. He kind of raised you for seventeen years. You had to care about him.

After calming down, you reach out. You try to feel for Pogo or Grace, but you can sense the presence of two people you’ve never met. So you force yourself out of bed, and creep down the hallway. Your room right closer to Reginalds as it was the only room left. So you snuck into the main room, seeing your mother staring into space.

“Momma?” You whisper, catching Graces attention.

“ Oh Y/n dear, you woke up.” Grace says with a smile standing and stroking your face, “ Darling, your in your night clothes, you know the rules.”

Your eyes water as you throw yourself in her arms. Feeling like a child.

“ I..I tried momma..I really did”

You feel her arms wrap around you, “ Do you want breakfast, you haven’t eaten in 12 hours and 15 minutes.”

You were confused. Why was she acting like nothing has happened?

“Momma I-“ “Mom?”

A male voice cuts you off. You freeze, not knowing who the voice belongs to. His presence unfamiliar.

“Diego, welcome home are you hungry?” Grace says, “I was just going to make breakfast for Y/n” she squeezed you gently before letting you go to turn to Diego.

You hide behind her, like a child. Peaking over her shoulder to get a glimpse at the man. He was average height, Hispanic most likely, wearing all black with a harness and some knives. He had short hair and a scar on the side of his face. He looked at you then Grace in disbelief or shock. You can feel that he was healthy, just a bit sore.

“Um mom who’s that?” He asks gesturing to you.

“Oh I suppose you haven’t met yet. Diego, this is..well why don’t you introduce yourself.” She says to you. Your eyes widen and shake your head.

“Come on dear, just like we practiced. Go on.” Grace nudges you in front of her. Setting a comforting hand on your back.

“ hello...my names y/n Hargreeves. It’s lovely to meet you.” You say softly, and then you give a shy smile.

“Hargreeves?” Diego asks, shocked, “ I don’t understand...how?”

“ Y/n is just like you and your siblings.” Pogo chimes in, startling the three of you.

“ She came to us 17 years ago, just as the six of you left. Your father kept her secret as he did many things. She has remarkable abilities just as you and your siblings. ”

Diego looks at you, sizing you up and taking you in. “Why didn’t we know about this?” He asks Pogo.

“ Your father had his reasons. He believed she wasn’t ready to see the outside world. She has been here her whole life.”

Diego scoffs, “ What? It wasn’t enough that he ruin our lives, he had to start again?”

He looks at you, “ Welcome to the family, kid.”

Then he walks off. You look at Grace and Pogo

“ Did..did I do something wrong?” You ask.

“ Oh no, Diego is just...on edge. You did great.” Grace says cupping your cheek.

“ I am glad that you are alright Y/n. It’s good to see you up and about.” Pogo says with a comforting smile.

“ thank you..” you say, “ there’s another person here..a woman.”

“Yes, well I think it is time you meet your sister. Come along.” Pogo says, leading you to the kitchen.

Oh boy...

#the umbrella academy #the umbrella academy x reader #diego hargreeves x reader #klaus hargreeves x reader #vanya hargreeves x reader #five hargreeves x reader #alison hargreeves x reader #luther hargeeves x r #klaus hargreeves #Diego Hargreeves #grace hargreeves #pogo hargreeves #reginald hargreeves #netflix #teen!reader #comics

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harryscherrypie · 3 years ago

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I've loved you through centuries

Prologue

Harry Styles x fem!reader reincarnated au

World count- 510

Warnings- nothing, mentions of death

I will start writing summaries as soon as the plot takes off.

!Photos from mood boards are from Pinterest, credit goes to the creators!

!The people in mood boards in no way represent the looks or skin color of the characters. These are the first photos I found that looked the closest to the image in my mind.! -------------------------

The New York museum of soulmates and reincarnation is considered to be one of the most interesting and magnificent places on the entire planet. It is estimated, that around 10 million people visit it every single year. 10 million people a year come through its’ doors to come and see the research done by the scientists who study the history of reincarnation.

There is a small percentage of the population, who have experienced reincarnation. At the start of life, the soul latches onto a newborn and stays until the body is too weak and dies. At the time of death, it detaches from the body and goes for a search for a new body.

But sometimes, souls need to rest and gain energy. They ‘fall asleep’ and rest, sometimes for hundreds of years on end. When they are rested, they wake up and find a new body to carry out their important job.

No one really knows how these souls are created but we know one thing, every soul has its mate, another soul that they have to find again and again, through their lifetimes. Some might say it’s sad. That an entity wanders through time and tries to find its’ other half, only to lose it and repeat the cycle all over again.

But some say that it’s a beautiful cycle which always ends up in the souls finding each other. Even if it’s just for a few minutes.

The museum is full of stories and exhibitions, about souls who found each other throughout the centuries. Not many people are lucky enough to find proof of their past lives. Many are lost, or destroyed, and unusable at one point.

Some are luckier. They find little trinkets from their past life and can pinpoint who they were and what accomplishments they achieved.

You may be asking yourself. But how do they know it was really their soul occupying that particular body? Well, every soul carries little things from life to life.

Usually, it’s handwriting or the color of their eyes, or the shape of their eyes. Sometimes, it’s their voice, hair type, birthmarks, or just the way they walk. These things can help people to find their past selves.

One of the most famous reincarnation soulmate stories is ‘artist and his muse’. It’s a story that spans from 1440 to 1990, so far. It is a beautiful love story of an artist and his muse, who found each other in every life they lived.

This story is so famous, mainly because we have art from many of those lives. All of them are art pieces of many genres. From the most famous love poem to a full brand, all dedicated to the artist’s soulmate.

For the last 20 years, scientists have studied this incredible story and gathered all of the pieces of their story. It took a lot of time and funds, but now, it is finally completed and opened to the public.

And who knows, maybe the pair of souls will stumble upon their own story while visiting the museum.

---

Next chapter

So, I've had a bit of writer's block but I couldn't sleep yesterday and I kinda thought of a whole series? I don't know if it will work out but if it will, I will be super happy.

Please tell me what you think of this idea and if it's worth continuing with it.

The next chapter should be out later today.

#my writing #harry styles #fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles x reader #harry styles one shot #harry styles x y/n #reincarnated au #new series

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adamwatchesmovies · 2 years ago

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War Games (1983)

I like to think of War Games as a spiritual sequel to Dr. Strangelove. A Matthew Broderick film ushered in the same sentence as the Kubrick masterpiece?! I know. It sounds nuts, but hear me out. After watching How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb, you take away that no single man should have the power to declare nuclear war regardless of what safety protocols may be in place to prevent catastrophe from ensuing. With this film, writers Lawrence Lasker and Walter F. Parkes complete that idea and argue that it is too much for a machine as well.

Tests have proven that even when ordered, 22% of NORAD staff members would not launch a nuclear missile strike. This convinces Dr. John McKittrick (Dabney Coleman) to automate the process, granting control to WOPR (War Operation Plan Response): a learning supercomputer that runs continuous war simulations. When high school students David Lightman (Matthew Broderick) and Jennifer Mack (Ally Sheedy) hack into the WOPR and, unaware of what they’ve discovered, decide to play a “game” with it, the computer begins counting down to a real-life war.

Part teenage drama, part cautionary tale, War Games may sound impossible, but when you see it in action everything is frighteningly real. The security measures implemented by NORAD actually wind up causing the problem to happen. Nothing on the screen David stumbles upon indicates that it’s anything but a video game (the screen is blank and simply asks for a password). When he researches the programmer who created it and finds an entry point, there are no warnings to tell him “Thermonuclear War” is the real deal. While the adults scramble to find an explanation for why their screens show an impending attack, none of them accept the simple truth that it’s all a giant mistake. How could it be? The system was built to be flawless. Two unsuspecting teenagers are the only ones who know what’s going on, but what are they supposed to do about it? Yesterday, he was impressing her by hacking into the school system to tamper with their grades. Now, they’re about to die before they’ve even had the chance to live.

Every action logically leads into the next with no room for error. One tiny mistake might set a chain of dominoes that will end the world. Just when you think every possibility has dried up, David comes up with a sway to squeak out of the pinch he’s in and hope is renewed. You breathe a sigh of relief, but it’s a brief one. The weight of this seemingly inescapable scenario is felt again in no time.

War Games is an intelligent film. It has elements of a teenage adventure/drama, but it’s much more. This is a cautionary tale that will make you think, with a great screenplay that’s sure to have everyone watching white-knuckled. (On DVD, May 4, 2018)

#War Games #movies #films #movie reviews #film reviews #John Badham #Lawrence Lasker #Walter F. Parkes #Matthew Broderick #Dabney COleman #John Wood #Ally Sheedy #1983 movies #1983 films

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naminethewriter · 3 years ago

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A Fateful Encounter

Another ship week, here we go! 🥳🥳 My second time participating in Intrulogical Week and I’m so excited! This is technically part of my Pirate!AU but that hasn’t been written yet, so go ahead and read it, no context required.

@intrulogicalweek2021

Here on Ao3

Masterpost | Intrulogical Week 2021 Masterpost

Characters: Remus, Logan

Relationship: platonic Intrulogical

Rating: T

Words: 1,513

Summary: Remus expected the island to be uninhibited. He did not expect to be startled by the same guy twice.

Remus ducked under another tree branch, one hand holding onto his hat to make sure he didn’t lose it. It took him forever to find one he liked and he wasn’t keen on raiding another fifteen ships to replace this one. He made his way further through the tick jungle that seemed to encompass most of the unchartered island his crew had landed on. They hadn’t needed to stop necessarily; their supplies should last for at least two more weeks on sea but Remus always liked exploration and it wasn’t very common to stumble upon unchartered islands.

So far it hadn’t been the most exciting trip he’d taken, he saw some animals and plants he had never seen before but that’s it. He was almost bored. But one thing that kept him moving forward was the few paths he had found. It seemed like he wasn’t the first human on this island after all and he was curious as to where these paths lead. They weren’t as defined so not travelled along a lot but still. Remus was always too curious for his own good.

Soon he found himself at the edge of a chasm. It wasn’t very wide but deep with many jagged rocks along its walls. If he threw someone down there, how many bones would they break before hitting the bottom, he wondered. He took another step closer to try and get a better look.

“I would advise you to stay away from the edge. The ground is rather unstable.” Remus quickly turned, hand flying towards the pistol holster at his hip, startled by the sudden voice beside him. He had told his crew to stay at the ship and he didn’t recognize the voice. A few feet away stood a man, tall and lean. His clothes were worn down but rather clean. He had glasses and deep black hair like the feathers of a crow. He regarded Remus with a neutral expression, his blue eyes never wavering.

“Where the fuck did you come from?” Remus asked, still a bit shocked. The other cocked his head slightly but his expression didn’t change.

“From my camp. I was on my way to check on a bird’s nest that I am observing. Where did you come from?” Remus vaguely gestured into the direction he had come from while slowly moving towards there. He didn’t like being stuck between a chasm and a guy who seemed to live on an otherwise seemingly deserted island. His hand remained at his hip even though the other didn’t seem to be armed.

“You live here?”

“Yes.”

“Alone?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because there are species living on this island that I wanted to research.” The man didn’t seem perturbed by his questions or the fact that he was holding onto a weapon. Instead he looked away from Remus, seemed to spot something and moved closer to the chasm though he didn’t go as near as Remus had been only moments prior.

“You a scientist or something?” The man’s eyes flickered back to him but soon focused back on a spot on the ground. Remus didn’t like this guy. He was too calm.

“Indeed. And you are a pirate, I presume?” Again with the nonchalance! He acted like pirates were harmless. Something was off, way off. Remus hand grabbed the pistol but he didn’t draw, not yet.

“What off it?”

“Nothing. I was merely attempting to converse with you. But I am not particularly interested in your business here.” Remus narrowed his eyes.

“Then why approach me at all?”

“Because I feared you might fall.”

“The fuck do you care if I fall or not?”

“I simply do, is that so surprising?” The man stood, apparently done with inspecting the ground. Remus huffed.

“Pretty much. Never met anybody who cared about a stranger getting hurt just ‘cause.”

“Well, there is a first time for everything, I suppose. So what brings you here, pirate?”

“Thought you weren’t interested in my business here.”

“Again, attempt at conversation but if you do not wish to share-“

“I don’t”

“- then I will not ask further.” Remus grip on his pistol tightened, still very uncomfortable with the situation. All his instincts were telling him that man was dangerous despite him not being armed and seemingly having no muscles whatsoever. The other wasn’t bothered by his silence, simply watched him for a few moments before speaking again.

“If you are here to hide treasure, please take care to not disturb the wildlife.” Finally, Remus snapped. Why exactly he wasn’t sure. Maybe it was the talk of treasure but within seconds he pulled up his pistol, aimed and shot the man in the shoulder. He hadn’t aimed to kill but the recoil send the man stumbling closer to the chasm, the ground gave away and he tumbled over the edge. Remus stood frozen, listening to the sounds of the body colliding with stone several times before a loud crunch announced its arrival at the bottom. There was no way he survived that but Remus didn’t chance a look. Instead he surveyed the sky, noting that the sun was close to setting.

“Time to get back to the ship,” he mumbled. He pulled out his compass to make sure he didn’t get lost and headed back toward the shore.

The next day, Remus left alone again. A storm seemed to be brewing in the distance so he decided to postpone their departure until the next day and gave the crew a day off. A few accompanied him to shore, to swim and explore a bit but Remus went off to the deeper parts of the jungle alone. Nobody questioned him, they learned a long time ago that it was pointless.

Heading a different direction this time, Remus focused more on finding a good spot to hide the wooded box he carried, hidden from his crew. A bounty off a ship they raided not so long ago that could land all of them in trouble if it were found in their possession. It was for the best to get rid of it. Fast.

It took almost three hours until Remus stumbled over the entrance to a cave. It was small and dark and he contemplated if he should try to squeeze in there when he was once again startled by a voice.

“You will not fit in there.” In a very reminiscent way, Remus spun around to face… the guy from yesterday? They stared at each other before Remus finally found his voice.

“Wha- How? I killed you!”

“Technically it was the injuries of the fall that killed me, not your… bullet I believe they are called?” Remus just stared at him, unbelieving.

“Who the fuck cares how, you still died!”

“Yes. I do not see your problem.”

“How are you here if you died?” Again the man cocked his head to the side.

“Do you not know the legends of Immortals? When I was young they were quite common.”

“Of course I know the legends!” Remus sputtered. “But they’re just that: legends! Like I expect some random guy I shot to just come back to life!” The man nodded as if this was a typical discussion topic and he hadn’t just turned Remus’ entire world view on its head.

“I suppose that is true. But considering the existence of other mystical creatures is well known and the elemental spirits have been proven to exist as well, I am a bit surprised that this comes as a shock to you.” Remus was once again at a loss for words. Sure, as many other had, he had hoped the stories were true, that humans could gain immortality like the sirens had but there was never any proof. And the elemental spirits were known to dislike humans once the lands were taken over and many forests destroyed. It was one reason why the seas had become so dangerous to travel, the spirits would not let the humans take any more control.

For an immortal to be in front of him now… it was a dream come true. And suddenly, like a switch was flipped, the excitement overrode the shock, the doubt, and the carefulness. A grin broke across his face and with quick steps he made his way over to the man who now was the one to look startled.

“That means you met the spirits? They approved of you? You really can’t die???” Their faces were now inches apart. The man blinked at him, the sudden change in demeanour throwing him off before he took a step back and cleared his throat.

“Yes to all of those questions. Unless the council deems me no longer useful, I will revive no matter the injuries.” Remus’ grin grew impossibly wide and he let out a cackle. Then he grabbed the man’s hand and shook it widely.

“Name’s Remus and you’re going to tell me everything now.” The man eyed him for a moment before pulling his hand back and rightening his glasses.

“Logan. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

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teashoptiramisu · 3 years ago

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Todosibs (and other BNHA) rec list

I started another BNHA fic reclist and it got long so I'm putting it here as I tend to.... on my ATLA sideblog. Don't worry about the logic of this too much, haha. Anyways, a lot of these are pretty well known, but maybe some are new to you! I'm also giving pitches for why I like them geared towards specific requests, and I'll list the original request at the bottom of the post so if you guys have further recs that meet these requirements let me know!

Not all who wander are lost -- https://archiveofourown.org/works/17950646 -- 27k words, complete -- Has probably been rec’d here before, and I was re-reading it today as a treat, I still love it a lot! All four Todoroki siblings run away together after Rei burns Shouto. I love the characterization, and how the author draws on their own experience as a foreigner working in Japan, and how they did their research on missing child cases and child homelessness in Japan (it doesn't go hugely in depth but I appreciate the authors' notes discussing this, even if it's, well, incredibly tragic. There’s more light hearted cultural notes as well!)

make this feel like home -- https://archiveofourown.org/works/21852745 -- 27k words, complete -- we already rec'd this to you but adding it here for completion. A character-focused Todosibs fic with EXCELLENT portrayal of sibling relationships. I re-read this one A LOT.

Dragon Head, Snake Tail -- https://archiveofourown.org/works/17195510 -- 61k words, incomplete -- Another Todosib favorite that deals with canon and also an AU in which Rei got a divorce and everyone mostly grew up away from Endeavor. I love how the sibling relationships are depicted, but I also love how the author is a huge kanji nerd who fully lean's into Horikoshi's love for punny names and the long authors notes explaining how they came up with every new name in the fic. It's occasionally bittersweet but mostly a fun & humorous fic.

Twin Swap -- https://archiveofourown.org/series/1867879 -- 55k words, on hiatus with 2 complete arcs -- do you want Todosibs AND great villain characterization? (well mostly Fuyumi & Touya, but Natsuo is there for a bit too). Anyways the fic is mostly pretty lighthearted in tone, but it's also not afraid to hit hard in the characterization department, and I really love how this author wrote all of the League members. I re-read this one a lot.

No Such Thing As a Hopeless Case -- https://archiveofourown.org/works/16806328 -- 14k words, hiatus (and right on a cliffhanger too!) -- All Might accidentally kinda adopts the league of villains? Again, great LOV characterization, and I think you'll like how it explores the societal factors and personal tragedies that lead them to and keep them at the margins of society. also, some really terrible puns, which are my favorite thing

could i but teach the hundreth part -- https://archiveofourown.org/works/12558048 -- 5k words, complete -- a post-canon outsider-POV fic of Class 1-A visiting and taking care of a retried All Might. It’s just short and sweet.

Missing Everything -- https://archiveofourown.org/works/30128547 -- 52k words, in progress -- AU where Izuku doesn't learn of All Might's secret during the slime attack, but manages to befriend him through his civilian identity. Recommending this for the really interesting (to me at least) characterization of All Might and examination of his flaws and the toll of his career, and recently it's gotten into some interesting exploration of the details of the Hero System with the beach clean up.

Q.A.B. -- https://archiveofourown.org/works/27665101 -- 18k words, complete (w/ a sequel just starting out!) -- a really excellent social media fic in which Izuku stays quirkless and doesn't go to UA but does gain a following online for his quirk analysis and hero blogging. Also features great characterization of Todoroki, Kaminari, and some of the Vigilantes crew.

Yesterday Upon the Stair -- https://archiveofourown.org/works/8337607 -- 460k words, complete. You're probably aware of this fic since it's the highest hit count in the fandom, but I really think it fits your requirement and writing and character work! I know some other people who think the writing and character work are mediocre though, which I'm baffled by... but YMMV? The beginning is weaker and my absolute FAVORITE part is the Nighteye arc, which is the last 20% of the fic, but I would say it really starts to hit its stride by chapter 9~10? If you aren't enjoying it by then it's probably fair to expect it won't catch your interest later.

I can't believe no one has written any "self insert as Bakugo" fanfics... - https://archiveofourown.org/works/17662220 -- 70k words, infrequent updates -- I like this one for taking a weird as hell premise and REALLY rolling with it. It's somehow pretty similar to a lot of more positive takes on Bakugo's relationship with the Midoriyas while also being very much it's own thing. The author is NOT "far out of high school" though -- it's hilariously clear from the SI's reactions to certain quirks that the writer started this while taking lower division universtiy physics (and personally I love that). Also appreciate SI!Bakugo's war with Nedzu to get proper counseling and mental health support for class 1-a after all the shit they've been through.

It's Over, Isn't It (it's only yet begun) -- https://archiveofourown.org/series/1269638 -- 66k words, abandoned series with several complete stories -- AU where All Might dies rescuing Tenko from AfO but other than that it's a heartwarming fix-it! Same author as YUTS, very positive portrayal of Nighteye, excellent character writing for many other characters.

Subject: A Comprehensive Report -- https://archiveofourown.org/works/16037609 -- 83k words, infrequent updates -- another very popular fandom staple, but hey it's really good! A social media fic with quirkless Izuku interning with Nighteye as an analyst. Has some very interesting exploration of the legalities of Hero Society and how the status quo developed.

For Fools and Utopias -- https://archiveofourown.org/works/22547254 -- 89k words, updates regularly -- okay grace is the one who rec’d this fic to ME but to anyone stumbling across this reclist on tumblr, THIS FIC IS A MUST READ. Absolutely the BEST, more thought out and gutting portrayal of the flaws of the hero system, and how the different characters struggle with it. This fic GOT to me, hard, I’m still thinking about it a lot. Takes place roughly a decade post-canon, in an AU where Izuku never met All Might or went to UA, and nothing got fixed (yet! they’re trying!!). Features absoulely STELLAR characterization of Midoriya, Shinsou, Todoroki, his sibblings, Ragdoll, and more!!

Here’s the original request:

any of the following in any combination: - really good writing - sophisticated character work - engagements with the ethics of the hero system - some kind of actually nuanced take on the Todoroki family - anything obviously written by people who are long out of high school (sorry for being old) - adults todobaku - good looks at the villains because guess what I continue to be weak for villain stories - basically anything that's Really Good - I like grey areas

(to clarify, I, teashoptiramisu, am not the originator of this request but I’m also interesting in reading more fic exploring these ideas, so if you have any more fic that you think meet it feel free to drop the link(s) in a reblog or send me an ask!)

#fic recs #fic rec #fic recommendation #bnha #not atla #long post

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helenvader · 3 years ago

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We had an interesting discussion on "kvas" with @kasamira at @serpenteve 's blog yesterday and I thought it's worth a separate post.

@dreamsatdusk mentioned a Q&A that I also stumbled upon and managed to find it again. Here be link.

All of it just doesn't make sense. If you model your fantasy world on Russia, you should take some research first and then do your version in a way that doesn't completely retcon the original culture.

As for Ravkan. I am a linguistics major and this is not how it's done. She either could have come up with a totally fake language or work with Russian in a way where the new words are coined based on word formation rules of that language. To do so, you really need to know those rules, at for that you need to really know the language, so consult a student of Russian and pay them with a mention in your book. As a student I would have been thrilled with such an opportunity.

Renaming vodka with a name of another existent beverage that is as alcoholic as kefir was not a good idea.

So I just looked up the etymology of vodka in Wikipedia and a random distillery site (first two hits on Google).

Here we go:

People in the area of vodka's probable origin have names for vodka with roots meaning "to burn": Polish: gorzała; Ukrainian: горілка, romanized: horílka; Belarusian: гарэлка, romanized: harelka; Lithuanian: degtinė; Samogitian: degtėnė is also in use, colloquially and in proverbs); Latvian: degvīns; Finnish: paloviina. In Russian during the 17th and 18th centuries, горящѣе вино or горячее вино (goryashchee vino, "burning wine" or "hot wine") was widely used. Others languages include the German Branntwein, Danish brændevin, Dutch: brandewijn, Swedish: brännvin, and Norwegian: brennevin (although the latter terms refer to any strong alcoholic beverage).

At the start of the 12th century, this substance was often used for medical purposes—to disinfect and to numb. Interestingly the verb razvodit—etymologically close to the word voda, from which the word vodka is derived—means to dilute with water. This meaning of the word reflects the last step of the process of making vodka. During the 17th and 18th century, vodka also went by the names “bread wine,” “bitter wine,” and “горящее вино“ (goryashchee vino), meaning “burning wine.” The first name “bread wine” is derived from the imperial practice of having vodka with bread at every meal, while the latter two clearly come from the taste and burning sensation that accompany a sip of vodka. The first recorded use of the actual term vodka did not occur until 1751 in Empress Elizabeth’s decree regulating the ownership of vodka distilleries. Vodka is still the most common name for this drink, today, but it has acquired a litany of others, including: “hot water,” “the monopolka,” “the bubble,” “crankshaft,” “the white stuff,” “half litre,” “daughter,” and “the bitter stuff.”

So many possibilities to play with. The "fire" could have been used effectively, IMHO. Oh, well.

P. S. As a side note - I actually did coin new words for sea fisherie terms for my work, and while they are not (naturally) in the dictionaries, they are in the EU terminology database and in relevant legislation. It's a fun and rewarding exercise, but you need to stick to existing word formatiom rules, as I mentioned. Or else nobody would have approved of my invented words (I just can't do whatever, I am just one person involved in the long journey of a document from draft to legislation). You have much more freedom in literature.

#ravkan #kvas #grishaverse #linguistic traps

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rainythefox · 3 years ago

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Nightfall (CH.17)

Synopsis: Pre-Resident Evil 1, slight-AU/Canon Divergence. Claire Redfield comes home to visit her brother Chris for the holidays but gets caught up in a dangerous game of cat and mouse with Albert Wesker, the Captain of STARS, after stumbling upon dark secrets. She can’t call the law; Wesker is the law, and she can’t tell Chris. She is trapped…Claire/Wesker & Slight Chris/Jill (Wesker & William Bromance). Rated M for smut, language, violence, adult content.

AO3 Link

Chapter 17: Complicated Affairs

It happened again. Tonight of all nights. He awakened to pain splintering through his cranium, caused by distorted dreams or memories still fresh, the source of his affliction.

Wesker wasn’t a stranger to it and rose to do his usual ritual when this happened: splashing water on his face. Painkillers? Rarely. Rubbing his temples, his eyes, his forehead. He had no choice but to wait for the pressure to alleviate, despite his mind becoming something close to hypersensitive during this time.

3:12 A.M.

The STARS Captain sat at a mahogany desk in his bedroom. A small desk lamp provided a soft, dim glow. He watched Claire's beautiful form sleep soundly in his bed, blissfully unaware of his torment.

Wesker had reminded her of the guest bedroom after their last round in his sheets, in case she’d be more comfortable in there, but she had declined and stayed with him. Admittingly, he was a little surprised by that.

He hated what he was feeling for her, but at the same time...strangely welcomed it, like a drug he’d been craving and was now addicted to. From her clever wit, fiery temper and beauty to the way she tasted, smelled, felt. For a man who had great control over his more primal urges, Claire had some kind of pull over that control. She appealed to all of his senses in just the right way, the way most women couldn’t, reminding him that he wasn’t immune to the forces of nature. Not to mention, making him realize his desire for her wouldn’t wane anytime soon, and he was perfectly fine with that. There was something simply compelling about her. He wanted her all to himself.

Anezka had been something special too. A young, brilliant researcher with fire red hair and an equally blazing disposition. But Anna had jilted him, reasons unknown, seemingly disappearing from the face of the earth. His resentment towards her, as well as his pride, kept him from seeking her out.

“I know you will come to hate me. Just know that I love you, and I had to do it…”

Her final words to him from a random phone call three weeks after she had up and left Raccoon City. Nearly seven years now, but he still heard it as clear as if it had happened yesterday.

Had to do what? What was he missing? She had acted so strange those last few days she was here. Wesker shook his head, jaw clenching, hating that he still thought of her, hating what she did, and yes, hating her too. The whole thing was quite absurd in the fact that he still wasted time and energy dwelling over her.

Wesker dropped the bitter thoughts of Anna, turning away from his sleeping Claire to peer out the nearby window. Small snowflakes glittered in the beams of street lamps outside. He attempted once again to make sense of the flashing pictures that had painfully awoken him, but the inability to decipher or rationalize them only frustrated him further.

A soft whine snapped him out of it. Lying near the bed, Odin stared directly at him, ears erect. Wesker gave him a signal and the Doberman lowered his head onto his paws, licking his lips. It was a shame most MA-39s would go to waste once infused with the T-Virus. The Cerberus project genetically modified and bred the dogs for extreme intelligence, strength, and agility. The new Epsilon strain was an improvement, but still caused enough deterioration that prevented MA-39s from taking complex orders.

Strange how no one at the Spencer estate reported a missing Cerberus dog when Wesker had taken him three years ago. Then again, some of the handlers weren't all that perceptive.

Wesker clenched his fist on the desk as another wave of pain jostled through his skull. More distorted images flashed by, many unrecognizable to him as usual. Same with the faint, echoing voices. No, there was one he did recognize. And it made the pain flare, made his body cringe. More of his buried hatred clawed to the surface.

It was much like another voice Wesker once knew, although that one died at his feet in a pool of his own blood a decade prior.

When the time is right...you will be next…

Ironic how in the early years of his life, he had been oddly intrigued and drawn to Lord Ozwell E. Spencer. But as he grew, after being subjected to Marcus's indoctrination, conditioning, and torture alongside William, inside the walls of the Umbrella Executive Training Facility, after climbing the ranks within Umbrella, those feelings slowly mutated. After years of learning, adapting, and evolving. Hatred and distrust took their place, just as they often did.

After all, it made only sense now that he had control of his life, now that he could see what he hadn't before. Marcus had always been a pawn. A puppet attached to strings held by Spencer. He had subjected them to the menticide for all those years, all for a "better future for you and for Umbrella".

Obedience breeds discipline. Discipline breeds unity. Unity breeds power. Power is life.

He and William were no different than Marcus to Spencer. Puppets. The next generation to pull strings on. But Wesker had made sure long ago to cut the strings that shackled him, instead only putting on the illusion that Spencer still had control.

But there was a rabbit hole somewhere, one he wasn't supposed to find. And it had to do with these "dreams". Could the brainwashing from his years at the Training Facility have gone further back, even as far as his childhood? Sifting through his memories, it didn’t seem so. His life was normal considering the circumstances, even when placed with Marcus and William, only taking a dark turn once entering the Training Facility some years later as a teenager.

There were those strange, hazy images of some kind of boarding school with other children his age that were not in his topographical or declarative memory.

He had no way to prove it, but just the thought of it boiled his blood. Why else would the dreams cause him so much discomfort?

No. He was in complete control of his life and everyone around him. He was no longer the ruled. He was the ruler.

A soft whine stirred her from slumber, waking her just enough to alert her brain that she wasn’t home in her own bed. The sheets were different, the comforter was different. The scent wasn’t hers. Her eyes opened, and in that second everything came back to her. The party, her “mission”, Wesker’s house, what they did in the dining room...what they did in this bed. His bed. She was still in his bed, but he wasn’t with her.

Claire sat up, awake, her skin exposed to the coolness of the room when the warm blanket fell away. Her inner rectitude had hoped it had all been a dream, if only so she didn’t have to face what she had done yet again. But as Claire moved, she felt the familiar ache in her limbs, in her groin. She felt the faint bruises from a mighty hold on her flesh. She felt the stickiness between her thighs where more of Wesker’s cum had leaked out since falling asleep. There was no denying it, even if she wanted to...but she didn’t want to. As much as she should be scolding herself for her major lapse in judgment and character yet again, she wouldn’t. Not while high on the thrill of these encounters with her brother’s boss.

The younger Redfield looked around the faintly lit bedroom that had been completely dark not long ago. She spotted her captor/lover sitting at a desk on the far side of the room, staring out the window as snow danced on the other side of the panes. Claire held her breath, the only thing she could do as she stared. It was strange seeing Albert Wesker in this light. And she didn’t mean the lighting in the room.

What she saw was something intimate, a part of Wesker right here and now that very few people have seen. Felt it in her bones. But she didn’t know him well enough to know exactly what she was seeing as he stared out the window, and struggled to place it. He was tired, but that wasn’t it. She had never seen such a look in his eyes. But she desperately wanted to know. It wasn’t exactly sadness. Nor was it doubt or self-reflection or even anger. And yet, somehow it was all of them at once. The hatred she did feel for certain, and Claire recalled Nikolai telling her that Wesker was driven by hatred.

After all the things she had seen this man do, what she learned about him this past week, it shouldn't have mattered what drove him. Stopping him and exposing him should’ve been all that mattered. But Claire couldn’t help herself. What could cause a man to hate so much that it drove his very soul?

Claire quietly got out of bed, wearing only underwear and the borrowed V-neck shirt. She didn’t make a peep, even as she stepped over Odin, yet wasn’t surprised the STARS Captain somehow heard her, swiveling the desk chair to face her, his steely eyes kindling her stomach.

Well, this was a stupid idea. What the hell was she supposed to say?

“You should be resting, dear heart. It won’t be long before I must take you home.”

Despite his stormy eyes, his tone was gentler than usual. Claire relaxed, weakly shrugging. “Can’t sleep. Looks like you can’t either.”

“I don’t sleep much.”

His response didn't surprise her. His tone suggested he simply didn’t need much sleep, but Claire felt it was a guise to the fact that he couldn’t sleep much.

What did surprise her was him motioning her to come closer, despite her leaning on the desk only a couple feet away.

Hesitating, she quipped, “Guilty conscience finally catch up with you?” And then squeaked when he pulled her down onto his lap.

Claire was completely thrown off by this strange behavior!

Wesker chuckled inaudibly, noticeable only by the slight pull of his lips. “Wishful thinking, my dear. Pointless cognitive bias. Just as pointless as most penitence. The majority of people’s decisions and subsequent consequences are known beforehand, thus to regret them afterward is groundless."

In other words, no. But Claire hadn't been holding her breath or anything.

Wesker’s arm secured her lower back, either holding her steady or preventing her from getting up. Claire moved one leg over so she was straddling him instead. Her captor faintly smirked, his eyes taking advantage.

“Just imagine if dear big brother saw you now. What would he think?”

Claire frowned, imagining Chris seeing her like this...or finding out what she had done with Wesker...more than once.

“He’d blow his top, that’s for sure.”

A soft snort was his response. Claire sighed, hating herself a little more.

“He’d be disappointed.” Her voice was just a whisper, as soft as his fingertips as they skimmed her lower back.

“Inevitably. Little sister isn’t as innocent as he believes.”

She glared at him. “In himself more than anything. He’d blame himself as if he did something wrong. Because he’s had to shuffle being a parental figure and a brother. He’s had to try and be our parents instead of being himself.”

“Given my experience in how he thinks, I’m not surprised. But it’s foolish to wear someone's shoes you will never be able to fill.”

The younger Redfield broke eye contact, thinking about how much Chris had struggled over the years between being a brother and being a parent, no their parents. Wesker was right. Impossible shoes to fill, as great as he was to her, as much as she loved him

“As dense and irritating as he can be, I will say this,” Wesker said, playing with a strand of Claire’s hair. “The sacrifices he’s made for you are admirable. As is his devotion to making sure you know how to defend yourself and navigate through life. Most love has selfish intentions and is conditional, blood or not. Most brothers would’ve settled, or even abandoned their siblings, to live their own life, achieve their own ambitions. And although he cannot step into the shoes of those you have lost, he certainly stepped up and took it head on. But I wouldn’t expect anything less from him.”

Claire never would’ve thought in a million years she'd hear the STARS Captain give a compliment that wasn’t laced with sarcasm or derision. Not while he wasn’t acting anyway. And she was both grateful and disheartened hearing it.

Chris had been younger than she was now when their parents died. His world got turned upside down just as much as hers did. His dreams, his college and life plans, all gone. Because he chose to. He sacrificed all of that for her, to keep them together, to give her a better future.

And this is how you repay him? Her inner voice chimed as she straddled Chris’s boss, but that seemed so insignificant compared to the deep hole she had dug herself into regarding Albert Wesker.

Capture and blackmail had turned into attraction and seduction. Attraction and seduction turned into an affair, and that affair had just turned quite dangerous. Evident in the way he looked at her, evident in the way that he held her. All because she had gone to the wrong place at the wrong time…

Yet despite his pragmatic and callous nature, Wesker would surprise her. Like pulling her onto his lap, or complimenting Chris in such a way that subtly doubled as reassurance for her. It intrigued her. Or maybe she was wishful thinking just as he had said…

“Thanks,” Claire finally whispered, returning her gaze to his steely blues. She risked charting dangerous territory by asking him something more personal. “Do you remember your parents at all?"

As expected, he gave her a look. Skepticism more than anything. Guarded, too. She expected him to deflect her question, mock her in some way. But when he sighed, her heart nearly flipped in anticipation. He was actually going to humor her?!

“I only remember my father to an extent, but most of the memories are...corrupted.”

That was an odd word choice, but Claire remained silent, not wanting to deter him from divulging in her.

“He was a bio-engineer. I wasn’t close to him.”

He wasn’t going to say anything else. Determined, as was her way, Claire pried further. “And your mother?”

Wesker shrugged. “Died in childbirth, I was told.”

“Oh...I’m sorry.”

He only looked mildly amused by her condolences. “For what reason?"

Claire shook her head. "She was your mother." Wasn’t that obvious?

“Your point?”

His response shouldn’t have caught her off guard, but it did. Claire stared at him, unsure what to say, but more importantly, unable to comprehend why she had expected better from the man blackmailing her to get more power.

Of course he wouldn’t care about his deceased mother. Think, Claire, think!

Wesker must’ve read her mind to an extent, curiously cocking his head to the side with a subtle smile. “How can you miss someone you have never met? How do you legitimately care about them?”

Claire couldn’t answer that. Not really. He made a point, like so many times before. It still felt wrong though. Was it because she had known her mother and still missed her to this day?

Their emotional constitutions were worlds apart. She had known that already. So what was she seeking here?

“You can’t. No matter who they are to you. No matter how society deludes you regarding its apocryphal ethics.”

Claire looked at him skeptically. “You don’t ever wonder? Who she was, how she lived?”

Still amused by this conversation, the STARS Captain massaged her lower back. “For what purpose? She’s dead.”

She put her hands on his chest. “Stop. Just...try it?”

Wesker scowled. “I’m not -”

“For me...dear heart?”

Her soft plea wasn’t like her, but Claire needed to get something out of Wesker, anything to help make this fucked-up relationship they’ve created make any sort of sense. She knew she was reaching for straws, but she needed it for her sanity.

Though he was the type of man to curl his lip to such pleading, Wesker gave a little at hearing her teasing use of his term of endearment for her, a feat she never thought she’d achieve. Didn’t mean he was happy about it...

“Your inquisitive mind is both endearing and aggravating, my dear. I do suggest you direct it towards more sensible aspirations. But for now I’ll humor you, despite whatever you may be seeking of me. From what I was told, her name was Andrea. She was a child prodigy and accomplished geneticist. I imagine she was much like my father. Her life was her work.”

She waited, but he didn’t say anything more. That was all Claire was going to get. She would have to be satisfied with it. She was lucky she got anything, really.

His eyes, which had focused on her exposed belly from her shirt hiking up, met hers once more. The grim set of his lips finally lifted to his usual leer. “Anything else you wish me to fantasize about?”

Claire gave up. “No.”

“It won’t do you any good to try and understand me, dear heart. No need to complicate things.”

But he was the one who wouldn’t let go of her wrist as she attempted to stand, preventing her from leaving his side. She looked down at him, the pressure of his fingers seized around her pulse merely epitomizing their situation. And she recalled what he had whispered in her ear just hours ago. Mine. So, who was really complicating things here?

She sighed, resigned. “Right. I know that. As long as you let my brother and me go in the end, I don’t care.”

Wesker didn’t say anything. After a moment’s staredown between them, he let her wrist go. The pressure immediately alleviated, the blood tingling up and down her limb. Claire stepped over his lap and returned to bed, longing for home.

The silence that infused the car as Wesker drove Claire home was different from the silence after the Christmas Party going to Wesker’s house. The Redfield sister still wore Annette’s clothes, knowing the dress would draw Chris’s suspicion, and her normal clothes were still in Wesker’s room in NEST.

She kept her gaze out the passenger window, watching slumbering houses pass by on dark suburban streets. The sky had cleared finally, revealing stars that competed with sparkling snow beneath street lamps.

This early in the morning, traffic and life were scarce. A suburban respite in the throes of Raccoon City’s hustle and bustle.

The cold had iced up any vehicles parked in driveways, some still untouched from a new sheet of snow. Inside the Jaguar, the heated leather seats warmed her tired body. The soft, warm air blowing from the vents made her eyes heavy.

It wasn’t just her body that was tired. It was her mind. Her soul. Claire didn’t want to admit it, but this whole ordeal was starting to take a toll on her. Last night especially.

She loathed herself for getting into this mess. Loathed herself for making it worse by having an affair with her brother’s superior. She hated him too; how he was able to manipulate, deceive, and exploit everyone and everything around him so easily. In his ego, they were living in his world, endless pawns in his quest for more power. More control. She wanted out. She wanted it to be over.

The silence was mostly frustration. But it came from her. The corrupt STARS Captain showed no signs of exasperation, remaining composed as he steered her home. If anything was amiss with him, he kept it well under wraps.

Finally, after what felt like hours in thick silence and warm air that smelled of new car, Chris’s house came into view: dark, silent...empty. Wesker pulled the car into the driveway, downshifting after pressing the clutch and rolled the Jaguar to a stop.

The locks disengaged, but Claire hesitated after grabbing the door handle, wanting to say something, just not sure what exactly.

“You are almost done with this, dear heart. Don’t drop the ball now. Chris is counting on you.”

She glared at him, his eyes now hidden behind his usual shades, unreadable. Claire squeezed the handle hard, but she had completely turned towards him now, ready to set the record straight with his mind games.

“He is counting on me. Yet, after the fight we had, I found out from Jill that it wasn’t her that set him straight. It was you. You took him out to the trail, didn’t you? Why? Why did you help get him off my back?”

Wesker was quiet for a moment. “I spared him.”

Her heart dropped. Spared? As in he had meant to kill him out there?!

“Killing Chris in no way helps me reach my goals currently and would only complicate matters. The same applies if he finds out about our...arrangement. Both of which prevents me from getting what I want. It was the most logical solution that doubled as a favor for you. You’re welcome.”

She kept his gaze, her own hard stare reflected back at her from the shades. “And what do you want, exactly?”

She was grateful the sunglasses shielded the piercing of his eyes, because his equally piercing smirk and telltale silence chilled her to the bone.

The feelings of dread and exhilaration rushed through her blood and instantly made her sick, made her dizzy, but she didn’t let it show, instead she calmly breathed in. She would be the one with the last word this time.

“You’re the one telling me not to complicate things. Yet, you prevented Bennett from taking me away, taking me to this Roth guy you’re so obsessed with bringing down. And don’t even try making the excuse that it would complicate matters with Chris and STARS because you said before killing us wouldn’t be a big deal. Something’s changed. Killing Chris wouldn’t affect your goals, unless, of course, they involve me.” She hooked a thumb back toward herself for emphasis. Then, she glared into the dual Claire Redfields staring back at her. “Maybe you were only bullshitting when you told me last night why you saved me, but I think there’s some truth to it. Because I heard what you said. And you know exactly what I’m talking about. So who’s really complicating shit here?”

She didn’t let him answer, satisfied with the way his smirk dropped to a grim line. Claire yanked the door open and got out, the bitter cold biting her right away. She slammed the car door shut as hard as she could. It was too dark to see through the tinted windows, but she stepped away from the car with a hard glare as it reversed out of the driveway and took off down the road. She gave the retreating Jaguar the finger and with an aggravated groan, stomped to the house before she froze her butt off.

The wide, cloudy pupilless eyes subtly followed his movements within the large, cylindrical tube. One finger, protruding with a long, curving talon, twitched beside the bulging muscle of one thigh. Air bubbles filtered through the liquid that filled the container. The beast was strong enough to burst through if it could, but every second of the day it was sedated, sleeping mostly, only awake for a few hours every day, watching, waiting…

William ignored the T-002’s interested stare and lipless grin. Did the creature have enough of a consciousness to remember it was him and Albert that gave him such a cruel fate when it was once human? Probably not.

The Golgotha creator wasn’t interested in the Tyrant itself anyway. He was here going through some of the new findings for the Epsilon strain of the T-Virus. The research wasn’t meeting deadlines, and so Spencer had asked William and Albert to give guidance. Albert had done more than Will, if only as a way to allow his partner more time on the G-Virus.

Little did they know that there was an ulterior motive to his helping hand.

“Dr. Birkin?”

Startled, William jumped a little and looked up. He relaxed. It was just John Clemens. Boring, innocuous John. The one Ada had just started “dating” if he recalled. Why? He wasn’t a bad looking guy, but he wasn’t exactly her type either…

John had transferred from Chicago years prior, taking over the T-Virus work once William began his G research at NEST, secreted away below Raccoon City. He was an alright guy, William guessed, but he wasn’t nearly cutthroat enough for this place; and quite frankly, he was surprised he was still around.

“Oh hey, John-my-man!” William greeted, not bothering with titles, because why would he? John was his inferior. And smacked him on the shoulder like the nobody he was. “How’s it going?”

“G-Good, I suppose,” John gave him an odd look: unsure, confused. His eyes flicked nervously from the paperwork and monitor Will had taken over, before quickly scoping the room. “Can I help you with something?”

“Aw, aren’t you sweet? But nah, I got this.”

“The team and I have made some, uh, great breakthroughs r-recently. We’d hate to take up any more of y-your time.”

In other words, John was asking him to leave in his own, polite way because he had no balls.

“That’s great. Good job!” His near mocking cheer died in the air as William continued what he was doing without missing a beat. No one else bothered the chief researcher as he rummaged through their hard work...

That is, until a tall, ominous shadow fell over him. That definitely was not John…

“Dr. Birkin, good morning.”

William whirled around, sour taste in his mouth, and hit his knee hard on the nearby chair. “Ow!”

Sergei’s sharp gaze danced like a cat’s watching a cornered mouse, grinning. “Strange seeing you without your other half.”

It was all he could do to keep from furiously rubbing at his knee. “Anne’s busy at NEST.”

He felt threatened but didn’t outwardly show it. People were watching, after all.

“I wasn’t talking about Mrs. Birkin.”

Will rolled his eyes. “Like I haven’t heard that before! What do you want? Kinda busy here.”

Dick.

The Colonel rarely bothered them in the open, pursuing his beef with William and Albert on the sly, determined to find some way to prove to Spencer they were threats needing to be neutralized. With all these faces around, William knew he’d be fine. For now, anyway. Arrogant as he was in the fact he was nearly untouchable, Sergei was the exception. Sergei wasn’t afraid of William or his influences. Most notably, he didn’t fear Albert.

“Lord Spencer wishes to speak to you, Dr. Birkin.”

William’s gut clenched and he instantly felt ill. No, no, no. Why now? I don’t wanna!

“Look, if it’s about Percy getting impaled after taking the wrong key, it wasn’t me this time!”

Sergei sneered. “Not that. Follow me.” When he didn’t immediately follow, the Colonel narrowed his eyes. “You dare make Lord Spencer wait any longer than he has to?”

Yes, I dare! He’s gotta croak sometime!

Then again, William didn’t want Spencer’s end to arrive by natural causes. William would much rather see the old bastard in a pool of his own blood with Albert and himself laughing as he died. Just like Marcus. Yes, just like that.

“Coming!” William exclaimed in a sing-song voice. “Of course, Lord Spencer wants to speak to his Chief of Research. Duh!”

His swank fell away once they left the lab though. It was nothing but uncomfortable silence as William walked with the tall, broad Russian. It was busy in the underground research center, but the surface was a different story. The trip back to the estate through the courtyard was devoid of life.

It looked as though the property landscapers had freshly salted and shoveled the walkways, but were nowhere in sight now. Probably inside having a nice, hot cup of coffee.

A lone Cerberus dog howled in its pen not far away, another reminder of the isolation surrounding the estate. Like one of those godforsaken castles in a cursed, forever winter forest right out of a fairy tale.

William’s mind raced, dreading the meeting. He wondered how Albert and Claire’s night went after they left Bard’s Christmas Party. The sexual tension was obvious between them last night and so a no-brainer for what had surely happened once they got to his house. But Will was curious about how the rest of the night had gone between them. Their ongoing attraction to each other certainly was making things interesting! Al’s behavior especially had piqued Will’s curiosity.

He had yet to hear back from Ada, who was tracking Bennett’s movements. He could only hope that she would touch base with them soon, preferably with the location of their elusive “friends”.

“Why are you so quiet?” Sergei questioned. “You usually cannot shut your mouth.”

“Just trying to be a good noodle for you,” Will said merrily as they entered the estate through the back door.

Despite pulling on his coat after leaving the underground labs, the short walk through the courtyards had chilled him already, and he was relieved to be inside the toasty mansion. William didn’t share Albert’s fondness for the cold, and sided mostly with Alex as far as weather was concerned.

“You disgust me. This cold is nothing compared to mother country,” Sergei scoffed. “The winter here is a “walk in park” as you Americans would say.”

“You’re absolutely right, Sergei,” Will jeered. “I didn’t walk twelve miles to school in the snow, uphill both ways like you, and it shows!”

He’d normally buff his nails after dealing such a burn to the Colonel, but not here, not so close to Spencer’s study. With a sharp glare directed at him, Sergei rapped his knuckles on the dark door that bore the Spencer family crest.

“My lord, I have Dr. William Birkin here as you requested. Are you ready to see him?”

“Send him in, Sergei.” The velvety British voice was both weak and strong, tired and mighty. But no matter the cadence, it still made the Golgotha creator sick to his stomach.

The Colonel opened the door for the researcher. The small, impeccably clean study looked the same it always did. The distinct scent of old tomes and Earl Grey tea often permeated the air here, and now was no different. There was a chair just inside the room with a small, round fold-out table in front of it. Just on the other side, Spencer sat in his large, leather chair that normally faced his desk up against the window. Except now it faced the other chair and small table.

William inwardly groaned as he went to take a seat just before Sergei snagged and frisked him.

“Hey! No need to get so handsy!” Will barked.

“It’s alright, Sergei. Leave us. I will ring you when we are finished,” Spencer stated.

The Colonel released William, but hesitated, obviously displeased with leaving the Umbrella founder alone with his own researcher. “As you wish, Lord Spencer.”

Will didn’t miss the pointed glare his way before the towering man left, having to duck to even get through the doorway. The crested door closed shut behind him, and they heard the heavy footsteps leave the hallway.

“Sit, my boy.” His tone may have sounded cordial, but deep down it was an order.

William ground his teeth, presenting a fake smile and did as he was told. They stared at each other for a moment, analyzing, thinking. The British billionaire was 74 years old, wearing a dark, silk gown that complimented shrewd blue eyes. Most of his hair had receded, but what was left was silver and nearly chin length. It was strange that this old, shriveled, weak man before him was the king of this empire. He was a shadow of his former self now, compared to the strong, resilient, elegant, young aristocrat shown in photos in the hallways of the estate.

This is what Albert despised most about Spencer. No one like this should be king of anything. William agreed. But they both knew what this seemingly frail, old man was capable of. And William knew way more than Albert did...

“Tea?” Spencer asked, motioning to the teakettle on the table in between them.

The Golgotha creator sighed. “Allow me, my lord.”

He poured them each a cup without spilling a single drop, even as the older man looked on with a complacent smile.

“Look, if you summoned me because-”

“Shh. Drink.”

William reluctantly picked up his teacup and blew on it before taking a sip. Spencer peacefully sipped on his, listening to the faint classical music that played from a gramophone to the side of his desk.

He hated this. He fidgeted, bounced his knee, burned his damn tongue on another drink. It was so...suffocating in here. It wasn’t just the tea now; he was burning up. He knew he shouldn’t be showing this wretched man before him any weakness, but he knew what was coming. Why didn’t the bastard just get it out already?

“I read your newest report on Golgotha. Quite fascinating! Incredibly impressive how far you’ve come with it in just a few years, William. The fecundity and regenerative abilities are nothing like I’ve ever seen before.”

“Thank you, sir.” What Spencer didn’t know was that the quarterly reports he submitted on his research were months behind his actual progress. And not near as...honest. “Next quarter I hope to have a breakthrough in stability, as certain virions collected still contain a defective mutagen.”

“If anyone can do it, it’s you, my boy.”

Was that supposed to put him at ease? Because William knew it was utter bullshit. Spencer was just making small talk, building up to why he really asked William here. It was obvious how they stared at each other, the fake pleasantries a front, one that all but ignored the weight that hung over their heads.

Spencer’s lips fell to a firm line, much like the many wrinkles that creased his face. After another long sip of his tea, the Umbrella founder sighed. “Don’t look at me that way. It’s been two months since I’ve received an update. I’ve been quite patient with you. I’ve practically given you anything you’ve requested in exchange for this one thing I’ve asked.”

The chief researcher took a deep breath. “With all due respect, Lord Spencer, I have nothing new to report, but I will as soon as I do. This is not something we can rush.”

“How is Albert?”

It’s like his words went in one ear and out the other, as always. “He’s fine. Doing what he does best.”

“His reservations towards me have only gotten worse. His mind continues to break down the indoctrination and artificial memories implanted as a child. Eventually, he will realize the truth. He is already uncontrollable as it is. This is why you must finish the Prototype Virus.”

The Prototype Virus...an experimental variant derived from the Progenitor Virus made specifically for the Wesker Children, a eugenics project Spencer had been conducting for decades. Except, instead of creating a superior breed of humans as planned, the virus had killed most of them. Only Alex had survived her dose after developing a sickness due to her breeding.

Once the star subject, she was pulled from the program afterward. Spencer reversed her brainwashing and kept her close to him, working as a chief researcher for his other experiments and a chief member of the Umbrella Intelligence Division.

That left Albert as Spencer’s most promising candidate and asset, the cream of the crop, but he dared not administer the unstable Prototype Virus into him. Too risky, too dangerous. Albert was too valuable to Spencer for him to meet the same fate as the other Wesker Children. Years later, that’s where William came in. Spencer had put it on him to stabilize and improve the Prototype Virus.

His best friend’s life was literally in his hands and he didn’t even know it…

“It will get finished. Trust me. But it’s going to take more time. We risk killing him if it isn’t right.”

“I suspect you are delaying any progress because of your attachment to him.”

“W-What?!” So what if that was the case? Angry, upset, William opened his mouth to argue.

Lord Spencer leaned forward, pointing a long, bony finger in Will’s face. “Albert is mine. I bred him! Just as I bred you. You owe your very existence to me! Albert was created to be a weapon under my control. He’s an asset, not your friend.”

The Golgotha creator bit his tongue, holding the older man’s sharp glare. Spencer slowly leaned back, coughing, relaxing only after wiping his mouth with a handkerchief. “You shouldn’t disillusion yourself, my boy. You’re better than that. Albert doesn’t care about you. He only uses you. It’s his nature. Don’t feel bad for doing this.”

It was far from the first time he had heard that. From Spencer, from the Colonel, from others, including his wife. Deep down, part of him believed it, acknowledged the weight it held. Maybe he was a fool for his continued loyalty to Albert. William had no qualms about cutting anybody’s throat to get what he wanted, to achieve his ambitions. Except Albert, that is.

It was one thing to stabilize and improve the Prototype Virus so it wouldn’t kill Albert, and so he could reap the full benefits of it. It was another entirely to enable Spencer complete control through it.

The one thing Albert didn’t want anyone to have over him ever again.

Spencer poured them refills on their tea, sighing deeply. “You know he would kill you if he found out about any of this.”

William didn’t say anything, staring at the steaming tea, chest hurting, sickened. That choking sensation he often felt around the Umbrella founder burned now. Spencer might as well have had his bony hands around his throat.

The withered lord rose to his feet, hunched, and shuffled the short distance to his desk. He picked up a stack of papers and brought them back over to where he and William were sitting. With a shaky hold, he presented them to the Golgotha creator.

William slowly took them, dubious, and scanned them over in fretful silence.

“I value you, William,” Spencer said after another short coughing fit. “You are irreplaceable to me and this company. You continue to far exceed any expectations in everything that you do. I know what I’m asking is hard. I know that I’ve asked a lot of you lately, but you never disappoint. So here I am making good on my promises.”

William couldn’t believe it. He scanned over the print several times, if only to make sure he was reading it correctly. Spencer wasn’t just confirming a lead spot on the executive board, he was promising a contract to give all rights and ownership of G to him!

“All I ask is that you finish the Prototype Virus and get Albert under my control.”

The words were like a cold dagger cutting straight through his breastbone. William had done countless immoral and terrible things in his life, most of which never bothered or affected him. But this did. This hurt.

He despised this man.

The chief researcher could only nod, unable to swallow the lump in his throat as he put the contract down on the table. Spencer’s cold eyes seemed to bore right through his very being, scrutinizing, gauging his reactions.

William stood, ready to leave. He had as much as he could stand, head pounding, but mostly it was the sickening ache in his chest. He didn’t care that Spencer hadn’t excused him.

“I’ll do what I can,” he announced and turned for the door. Spencer’s eyes continued to drill into his back, and just as he grabbed the doorknob, the king had something else to contain him.

“I heard from Sergei that Albert may have let a civilian live? A young woman. Is this true?”

William slowly turned around, a heaviness in the air as he thought about how to answer. Sergei didn’t know about the Wesker Children eugenics or Albert’s importance to Spencer, but he did know that Albert and William were often up to no good and was ready to prove it to Spencer by any means necessary.

“Is she...compatible?”

William quickly shook his head, returning to his seat. “No, sir. He disposed of her. You know Sergei can be a little paranoid sometimes.”

“A shame, really. We’ve never been able to locate Miss Muller since she fled.”

Fled?

William was interested now, and he could tell by the sharp curl of Spencer’s lips that’s exactly what he had been aiming for.

Anezka didn’t flee. She just left...right? For unknown reasons, jilting Albert, leaving her research behind here at the Arklay Laboratory.

Will finally took the bait. “Fled?”

Spencer’s satisfied smirk disappeared as soon as it had formed. “That’s right. I know the truth of what really happened to Anezka Muller. It is something only disclosed to my most trusted inner circle, like Alex. Do I have your trust, William? Do I have your secrecy?”

As if the Umbrella founder didn’t have enough from him. William nodded.

“So many rumors over what could’ve happened!” Spencer chuckled. “Truly a dramatic affair! The truth is that Miss Muller conceived.”

WHAT?!

Despite his brain blowing a gasket, William was proud of himself for keeping a straight face.

“I offered her a transfer and a substantial reward in exchange for Albert’s offspring. After all, I told her Albert wouldn’t want anything to do with it and she was all alone. But I underestimated her. She fled the states and went into hiding. To this day, she hasn’t been found.”

William shuffled through his memories of Anezka and her final days here. Her strange behavior now made sense, as did the tension with Albert and the seemingly sudden decision to leave. He couldn’t believe it! Al was a father, holy shit! Will, for a moment, had his own selfish curiosities about this illegitimate child fathered by his best friend. Boy or girl? The child would be five or six now. How much did it favor Albert? Had the little bugger come out wearing baby Ray-Bans?

Despite his hatred for him, there was no denying the significance of Spencer’s experiments and what he was able to accomplish with Albert.

“That was my only chance back then to continue the eugenics program with Albert’s genetics, despite Miss Muller not being a perfect match. Considering what happened with Alex, it was better than nothing. But the girl was able to escape before I got what was rightfully mine!” Lord Spencer swallowed surfacing frustration, staring intently at his chief researcher. “So, if there is indeed another female that Albert is interested in before the completion of the Prototype Virus, I need to know.”

William had already done his research with Claire Redfield. She was an exceptional match to Albert as far as genetics went. But he wasn’t sure how long the affair would last. He knew Albert though. He was a little obsessed with the redhead, and had her right where he wanted her, under his control. But he also cared about Claire in his own way, just as he had with Anna.

“I’ll be sure to tell you if there is,” William stated, keeping Spencer’s stare.

The king snorted, prompting another small coughing fit as he added sugar to a fresh cup of tea. “I’m sure you will, William. I’m sure you will.”

Holyshitholyshitholyshitholyfuckingshit!

He was freaking the fuck out.

Phone. Phone! I need to talk about this!

William hurried through the hallways of NEST, marching towards his laboratory, ignoring anyone who raced up to ask him a question. His mind spun like it had last night, drinking all those festive cocktails from Bard’s Christmas Party. He had forgotten why he had gone to the Arklay lab in the first place this morning. It no longer mattered.

Spencer’s demands were one thing, but this. Shit. This blew everything else out of the water.

“Good morning, Dr. Birkin!” his guard said outside his door. “You have-”

“Do not, under any circumstances, let anyone through this door!”

“Y-Yes, sir!”

The door automatically slid open for him and when it closed behind him, he typed in the electronic password to keep it locked. Will tossed his coat and went straight for the telephone. He mashed the dial pad, the phone number embedded in his memory.

The Golgotha creator paced around the lab as the phone rang in his ear. “Come on, come on, come on! Answer!”

It went to an answering machine, but this was too urgent for that. William hung up and dialed again, chewing on his lip, continuing to make a trench as he went back and forth. Back and forth.

Ring...ring...ring! Nothing!

Once more, he hung up and dialed, cursing under his breath. “Pick up!”

The echoing ring cut off in his ear, replaced by an all too familiar, silky-smooth voice. Finally!

“Hey! It’s Will! We need to talk! Pronto!”

“Enthusiastic as always, aren’t you, darling? Well, you’re in luck. We’ll be seeing each other real soon.”

#resident evil #resident evil 2 #resident evil fanfiction #resident evil fanfic #Albert Wesker #William Birkin #Claire Redfield #claire x wesker #clesker #Chris Redfield #Jill Valentine #chris x jill #Annette Birkin #sherry birkin #fanfiction #My writing #AO3 fanfic

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melanielocke · 3 years ago

Text

Lost in the Shadows - Chapter 15

AO3

Taglist: @nott-the-best @foxglove-airmid @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @justanormaldemon @styxdrawings @ipromiseiwillwrite

Previous Chapter: Chapter 14

Next Chapter: Chapter 16

Will covered his face with his hand. ‘I do not understand why after yesterday you’d want to return to the woods,’ he said. ‘Well, I understand the recklessness of some of you, but I was expecting a little more sense from Alastair.’

Lucie had to agree that if any of them had the common sense not to run towards danger, it was Alastair.

‘If we do nothing, we stand little chance of saving Thomas,’ Alastair said, his voice betraying no emotion but he did seem a bit stiff.

‘Excellent point. I’ve heard I am to congratulate you, by the way, Alastair. And Thomas too, of course. Here I was hoping that after James and Cordelia broke up, I’d have another chance for a Carstairs in the family with you and Lucie.’

Lucie wished she could disappear. She deeply regretted telling her father about her crush on Alastair, almost two years ago. Nowadays, she realized she’d probably just looked up to him, she had been grateful for the way he’d defended her. She had liked him better than most boys in school, and had mistaken that for a crush. However, when it came to boys in school, the bar was on the floor.

Alastair, for his part, looked horrified. ‘That will never happen. I’m gay.’

‘So am I!’ declared Lucie. She figured this was as good a time as any to bring it up, and she’d been meaning to tell everyone anyway.

Everyone stared at her. Alastair looked amused. ‘Well, that is one way to come out. Congratulations, Lucie.’

Her father looked surprised. ‘Really? You always told me about boys you liked.’

Lucie shrugged. ‘Yeah, that’s weird,’ she said. ‘I think at some point I started looking at girls and realized what I felt for boys didn’t really compare.’

Lucie wasn’t sure that made sense, but on the internet she’d discovered plenty of lesbians had had crushes on boys before realizing. Feelings were confusing for sure, and the longer Lucie thought about it, the more she began to understand those oblivious book characters who were obviously in love but had no clue.

‘I didn’t realize,’ Will said. ‘But I’m glad you told me. Can’t wait until you tell us about any girls you like.’

Considering her father’s fondness for the Carstairs family and how determined he was to bring one into the family, Lucie wasn’t sure telling him how she felt about Cordelia was a good idea. She didn’t doubt her father would think it a good idea to help, which would end in disaster.

Lucie felt that was enough said about the topic for now. ‘Back to our plan,’ she continued. ‘We need to find the selkie skin, which according to our source is located in the woods, in the land in between. The same place Alastair and Thomas ended up finding yesterday. There was a trap door they couldn’t open, but cortana could cut through the lock, so that’s our way in.’

Lucie didn’t mention the minor risk of getting trapped all the way in the realm of the thief of souls. Nor were they completely sure the trap door hid the selkie skin, but it had to hide something interesting, right?

‘Hold on, whose selkie skin, and why?’ Will asked.

Cordelia summarized last night’s visit. ‘Grace needs that skin, or she will be forced to use her power on us. Even if our plan has its risks, the risk of doing nothing is falling under the spell of a siren.’

‘I thought you said she was a selkie,’ Will said.

‘Something in between, I think,’ Cordelia said. ‘She is a selkie, but she has the voice of a siren. Something about myths being muddled. I don’t know, I can’t say I have much experience with the lovely ladies of the sea. That’s what she called herself, by the way.’

Lucie had to admit Grace was indeed quite lovely.

Will sighed. ‘I guess you’re right that someone has to go. I’d do it myself, but there must be a reason she asked for Cordelia specifically and I don’t have any weapons. But I do want you to be back by dinner. Now hurry before Tessa, Gideon or Sophie learns of your plans.’ A playful smile appeared on her father’s lips. ‘And if anyone asks, this conversation never happened.’

Lucie quickly put on some walking shoes, heart beating fast until the four of them were out of sight and she was sure her mother couldn’t stop them anymore. Her father might be lenient when it came to recklessness, but her mother was not.

‘If anyone gets mad at us, I’m definitely blaming your father,’ Alastair announced.

‘That’s not fair,’ Lucie protested. ‘He covered for us.’

‘Let’s just focus on our mission,’ Thomas offered. ‘Yesterday, we took this path and it took us to the ruins.’

She followed Thomas and Alastair, who remembered how they’d come upon the ruins yesterday. It was a nice route, Lucie had to admit that, with a small pond on the side. In the end, after a long walk by Lucie’s standards, they exited the woods back where Lucie had entered to follow Tatiana, at the side of the village.

Lucie frowned. ‘Are you sure that was the right route?’ she asked. ‘I didn’t see any ruins.’

‘Perhaps the entrance is somewhere different today,’ Thomas suggested. ‘Maybe we should go back and try another path.’

After trying several paths and walking for hours, Lucie was getting tired. She wasn’t used to taking walks this long like Thomas and Alastair were and she was pretty sure she had blisters on both feet. Determined not to complain, she trailed behind the two boys, who kept exchanging longing stares. They really were adorable together. Thomas at some point took Alastair’s hand in his, which caused Alastair to stop in his tracks. Lucie nearly bumped into him.

‘Why isn’t this working?’ Cordelia asked.

‘Well, yesterday was the first time we found the ruins,’ Thomas said. ‘Before that, the forest was normal. Apart from some gnomes, things like that. Nothing unusual, at least. Perhaps today, the gateway isn’t there. Or perhaps there’s another trick to reaching it.’

‘Is there anything we did different yesterday?’ Alastair wondered.

‘We didn’t intend to find the land in between,’ Thomas said. ‘What if we cannot find it now that we’re actively looking?’

‘Then how would Tatiana find it?’ Alastair asked. ‘If that’s where she hid Grace’ skin, she can’t have stumbled on the ruins by accident like we did.’

‘Could be part of the deal she made, her learning how to come there,’ Lucie said. ‘Is there anything else you did differently?’

‘We were there earlier,’ Alastair added. ‘Thomas decided to sleep in today, whereas yesterday he and I went into the woods early in the morning.’

‘I think I was on my way there when I followed Tatiana,’ Lucie added. ‘When I returned, Cordelia said I was gone for an hour when it didn’t feel that way, just like you were gone for a whole day.’

‘I’m not sure stalking Tatiana until we can follow her there is such a good idea,’ Alastair said. ‘Perhaps we should try it again tomorrow morning.’

They tried again the next morning, and then in the evening for a short walk, but no result. She had patched up her feet with blister band aids from her mother’s first aid kit and kept going, even if her feet were still hurting and it was getting worse. It wasn’t the time, it turned out, and Lucie started to get frustrated. Grace hadn’t come back, and how were they supposed to get her skin if they couldn’t get back into the land in between?

The third morning, after another fruitless attempt to find the land in between, her mother was waiting for them in the hallway when they returned to the house.

‘Where have you been all morning?’ she scolded.

Lucie realized none of them had a good excuse for this morning. Most of the time, no one had noticed them return, and they had been ‘reading’ the whole time in their bedrooms. At least for Thomas and Alastair, it was believable that they’d want to spend time together in a bedroom “reading” any time of the day. She looked around to see if anyone would come up with something. At least Cordelia was a decent liar. But no one offered a believable excuse and Lucie had no inspiration.

‘We were looking for a way back into the land in between,’ Lucie said, deciding not to reveal her father’s role in their adventures. ‘But we couldn’t find it. So no harm done, we weren’t in danger and the only injuries sustained are my blisters.’

Her mother sighed. ‘You’re just like your father, Lucie. But I’d hoped some of you had more sense.’

Her mother looked at Alastair, her expression stern. ‘I thought you could be a voice of reason among them, Alastair. I don’t understand why you’d do something so reckless. Promise me you won’t go into the woods again.’

Lucie agreed that out of the four of them, Alastair probably had the most common sense, but it was almost painful to see Alastair respond. Lucie knew her mother often came across as harsher than she meant, but Alastair probably didn’t. His face went blank, he retreated back into his shell. Lucie might not have noticed anything was wrong if Cordelia had not looked so concerned.

‘I’m sorry to have disappointed you, dr. Gray,’ he said and before anyone else could say anything, Alastair disappeared inside, presumably to his bedroom.

Her mother had a PhD and did all sorts of medical research, Lucie knew she liked it when people called her by her title, but at the same time she’d hoped Alastair was close enough to her parents to call them by their first names.

Thomas and Cordelia also made their way inside before her mother could get angry with them too, Lucie remaining behind.

‘It was for Thomas,’ Lucie said. ‘We needed to find the place in between again. We needed to find Grace’ selkie skin or else Tatiana will force Grace to enchant us with her voice.’

Tessa sighed, putting her hand on Lucie’s shoulder. ‘Why didn’t you tell me, Lucie? We could have gone in your place.’

Lucie figured she shouldn’t tell her mother her father had encouraged her to go.

‘I didn’t want you to put yourself in danger,’ Lucie said. ‘Cordelia has cortana, Alastair has his memory, so they had to go. I think you’ve upset Alastair, I better go check if he’s alright.’

Tessa sighed. ‘No, I will check on him. You’re right, I was too harsh on him. I didn’t consider… Never mind, I’ll go. But don’t think you’re out of trouble, young lady. You’re not leaving the house until otherwise specified.’

Lucie groaned and went inside, taking off her shoes and replacing the patches on her blisters. She had a pair of fit flops she could still wear, and Lucie decided that even if those shoes weren’t the most suitable for the forest, she would wear them for their next walk. If she was ever allowed to leave the house again, that was.

She wasn’t sure where Cordelia or Thomas had gone, upstairs to find Alastair? Perhaps she should join them, but her father found her first.

‘Tessa caught you,’ he concluded, sitting down next to her.

Lucie made a face. ‘Now I’m not allowed to leave the house.’

‘I’ll talk to her,’ her father promised. ‘Have you found anything yet?’

‘No,’ Lucie said. ‘I don’t understand why. Thomas and Alastair one day walked into the land in between on accident, but now we can’t find it and it’s frustrating and my feet hurt and these blisters are bursting open.’ She paused. ‘Did you see where Thomas and Cordelia went?’

‘Upstairs,’ Will said. ‘I’m thinking they’re talking to Alastair. He seemed rather upset. Is everything alright with him?’

Lucie sighed. ‘I think it’s something mom said. She didn’t mean to hurt him, but because he’s the oldest out of the four of us and definitely the one with the most common sense, she said that she’d expected more from him.’

She couldn’t explain it exactly, she didn’t always understand what upset Alastair. But she suspected Alastair felt like he didn’t deserve to be here, or that her parents liking him was very conditional. Perhaps in Alastair’s mind, all love was conditional, and any mistake he made meant he’d lose someone’s love. Lucie was trying to understand what was going on in his head. As a writer, she should be able to understand how people thought and why they did what they did. As a friend, she should be able to offer support. She wasn’t sure she was doing a good job with either.

‘I imagine that’s difficult for him to hear,’ Will said. He sighed. ‘This is all my fault. I’ll talk to your mother, and tell her I encouraged you to go.’

‘Mom will be very mad with you,’ Lucie said.

‘Now she’s angry with you, and I deserve it more,’ Will said. A playful smile lit up his face. ‘Besides, you’re not little princess Lucinda who needs to be locked in a tower, that’s for sure. What’s life without a little risk?’

Lucie wondered if he’d feel the same way after facing her mother.

She went outside into the garden on her fit flops to feel the sun on her skin after reapplying sun screen. The weather was nice today, not too hot, a soft breeze against her cheek, and only a few clouds in the air. That could change any moment though, Scotland was known for is changeable weather. A good atmosphere for a nice romantic scene, or bonding between friends or family. Or just fun scenes that might not need to be in the book but balanced out the dark ones. Lucie felt a book should be balanced in that sense. While she loved drama and darkness, she did not like gritty stories where everything was dark and terrible. She liked to balance out the darkness with a sweet romance or gentle characters still remaining kind and hopeful in the worst circumstances. Or characters who might have turned bitter, but were trying to be better. Thomas had a bit of a weakness for those, which totally wasn’t because that archetype resembled Alastair.

The garden still counted as the house, right? She suspected Thomas and Cordelia were both still with Alastair and she didn’t think it would be a good idea to join them. She didn’t know Alastair as well as Cordelia did, she feared she’d only say the wrong thing. Besides, Alastair didn’t seem to like people taking care of him or fussing over him, Cordelia had told her she sometimes had to force him to let her protect him for once. Lucie feared her mother’s comment had reinforced some deeply held belief of his that he was worthless, even if she had never intended to make him feel that way.

She wondered how she’d never seen something was not right at the Carstairs home. Cordelia hadn’t either, but she remembered how when she was young, Cordelia would sometimes come to her for sleepovers, whereas Cordelia’s parents had rarely invited her over at their house. Of course, when she was little Lucie would get homesick and preferred having sleep overs at her own house anyway, so it had never bothered her.

And when Lucie was little, her father would always come sing her a Welsh lullaby. He was Welsh through his father, whereas the house here in Scotland had been in her grandmother’s family for some time. He was a horrible singer, and it was hilarious how he kept trying and did not care what people thought. It was sweet and Lucie had always felt safe and protected when her father came to tuck her in and sing his horrible songs. Cordelia had told her it was usually Alastair who sang her good night songs and tucked her in. That had made sense too. Alastair had a beautiful voice after all, and who wouldn’t want to listen to him sing? Back then, Alastair had seemed much older and wiser than the two of them, but really, he’d been a child too.

And Cordelia had regularly had to cancel plans because her father was sick and she couldn’t leave him. Lucie had understood, although the disappointment never quite faded. But when Lucie’s father was sick, he might whine and moan like a typical man flu patient and complain that he needed uncle Jem’s care and support, but he would never have asked Lucie to choose taking care of him over spending time with the few friends she had.

None of those things had struck her as odd in childhood, but now she was thinking maybe they should have. Maybe someone should have seen something was not right at the Carstairs house. Perhaps then Alastair wouldn’t be in so much pain now.

‘Lucie!’

Lucie looked up, but didn’t see anyone calling out her name. Nor did she recognize the voice. It was a smooth, feminine voice.

‘Over here!’ the voice hissed and Lucie followed the sound to the trees and recognized Grace.

‘What are you doing here?’ Lucie asked.

‘Tatiana left me alone. She didn’t realize I had enough free will left to come here.’

‘I’m sorry, we don’t have your skin yet,’ Lucie said.

Grace rolled her eyes. ‘I know. I’ve seen you walk in the woods once or twice. Honestly, that was embarrassing.’

Lucie frowned. ‘How so?’

‘You never even opened the gateway,’ Grace said.

‘How are we supposed to do that? We’re not Tatiana!’ Lucie exclaimed. ‘And Alastair and Thomas entered the land in between by accident.’

‘It sucks people in sometimes,’ Grace said. ‘But rarely by accident. Alastair was targeted when he and Thomas came there, Tatiana found out he has a memory ability and she thinks he’s a threat to her plans. I think she’s scared her brother will remember something. That’s why the werewolf was after him.’

Lucie frowned. ‘They know about that?’

‘Yes. But they do not yet know about you,’ Grace said. ‘I figured it out when I realized you could see Jesse. You better get my skin back before she realizes what you are. She’ll want you dead for sure.’

‘What I am?’ Lucie asked.

‘You have power, Lucie,’ Grace said. ‘You’re a witch.’

‘No, I’m not,’ Lucie said. ‘I just see ghosts. That’s all.’

‘I know you see ghosts. You talked to Jesse. Do you have any idea how rare that ability is?’

‘I’ve never met anyone else who could do it.’

‘Exactly!’ Grace exclaimed. ‘You have no idea what you’re capable of. You can open a gateway into the land in between. And even more important, if you find yourself trapped you can open the way back.’

‘How do you know?’ Lucie asked.

‘Because I have heard legends of one other person like you. A witch who was born centuries ago. She wasn’t like other humans who used magic, she used dark magic, but hadn’t acquired it through a deal and there was no price to pay to something powerful. As a little girl, all she knew was she saw ghosts. And when ghosts stayed around her, they became stronger. But she learnt there was much more she could do and grew stronger. She learnt to open those gateways and use them as a weapon, she learnt to control the dead.’

Lucie was horrified. She could do such things? ‘What happened to her?’

‘As a woman of her time, and an odd one at that, she was treated badly of course. At some point she snapped and became a dangerous, evil witch. Who can blame her, honestly. She was defeated by the ancestor of the Carstairs, the one who carries cortana. Before he could deliver the killing blow, she jumped into the sea and drowned herself. She lost her dark magic, but came back to life as a daughter of the sea, a mermaid. She repented, changed, and lived her life peacefully in the sea. That is how we know her story.’

Lucie frowned. ‘I don’t want to be an evil witch,’ she said.

Grace’s grey eyes were cold and void of emotion. ‘Then don’t be. Just because magic is dark doesn’t mean it’s evil. Be a good witch or a neutral one or whatever you want to be. But you can’t change that you are a witch, and I need you to find my skin. You, the bearer of cortana, and the one with the memory. Without you it can’t be done. But you need to know what you can do, you need to open a gateway.’

‘How?’ Lucie asked.

‘It’s your power, not mine,’ Grace said. ‘Go figure it out. I need to get back before Tatiana realizes I am missing. They say when the witch wanted something, all she had to do was ask. So be careful what you wish for. You just might get it.’

#Lucie Herondale #Alastair Carstairs #Cordelia Carstairs #Thomas Lightwood #Lucelia #Thomastair #fanfiction #tlh #the last hours

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