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pencilpat · 1 year ago

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Sanders Sides: College AU - Part 5

Logan finally has a talk with Janus. Virgil is noticing some changes to Patton's behavior that are a bit familiar. Janus realizes a heart can't stay closed forever with such insistent knockers on its door.

4,062 words

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Janus is practically dragging herself on her crutches as she tries to make it around the school. Over-the-counter pain killers aren’t cutting it today, and she grumbles under her breath as the crowds begin dispersing quicker, the bell toll nearing. Already wobbling and stumbling, it takes one bit of slippery floor for her foot to come out from under her. Janus falls with a yelp, her backpack only serving to crush her further down. She groans and curses, laying limply on the floor from pain, trying to breathe.

She can’t seem to will her arms to be strong enough to lift herself up, even when trying to pull herself up with her crutches. She lets out a loud sigh in the empty hallway, resting her forehead on the cool floor despite how gross it is. The bell sounds anyway, uncaring of her plight. Footsteps fill the hall after a few long moments, and she grits her teeth, prepared for embarrassment. The footsteps round the corner, and stop. Great.

“Janus?”

Oh. Even better. Someone that knows her. Wonderful. She turns her head and sees Logan, hanging back slightly in the hall.

“The floor is not a very sanitary place to rest,” she says, straight-faced.

“10 minutes later than usual?” Janus drones in a mimic of Lo’s voice. Logan’s face falls into a frown, but not an angry or upset one, it’s something worse; pity. Janus turns her face away again, burning with embarrassment. Logan comes over to her, crouching beside her.

“I was preoccupied this morning,” Lo says in a mumble. “Do you need help getting up?”

Janus so badly wants to turn down the help out of spite, but desperate times and all. “If you could. Thanks.”

Logan hums, and then hefts her up into a sitting position by her shoulders. She grabs her crutches, and sets them up in a standing position. “Are you able to pull yourself up using them?” Janus nods dully, gripping the handles of the crutches and, slowly, with Logan’s help, pulling herself up and back into the support of her mobility aids. She’s panting slightly from weakness.

Logan looks at her, that same sympathetic frown tilting her lips downward. “Will you be okay?” she offers, touching Janus’s shoulder in an oddly warm gesture given how Janus usually knows her. Janus nods, lips pressed together thinly, her brow slightly sweaty. “We will be in less trouble if we are both late. The professor likes me. I will explain your fall. You just sit down.”

And she does, crutching silently through the lecture room and into her usual seat under the watchful gaze of the entire class while Logan pauses up front, murmuring to the paused professor. The professor nods at her, glancing at Janus, and with an even quieter muttering he sends Logan to her seat as well. Logan sits with a sigh, massaging her temples. Janus has her head rested on the table, trying to take the chance to rest. Logan reaches over and takes Janus’s notebook. “I will copy notes for you. Please, just rest.”

Janus can’t meet Logan’s eyes, staring at the dark wood of the desk instead; the genuine pity in her eyes is more physically painful than her physical pain. Nodding, she silently concedes to it. She hides her face in her arms, as though they can hide every ugly, broken part of her if she buries deep enough into her yellow sweater. She breathes out slowly, trying to relax, even if just for a bit before the day full of classes.

She ends up half asleep, and Logan’s tapping of her arm wakes her up to the students clearing out of the room. Logan is standing, half ready to go, looking down at her with that same oddly soft look. “I take it the couchmate has been a… nuisance?”

Janus laughs half-heartedly. “No, it’s actually… actually the opposite. I’ve been more of a nuisance I suppose.” Logan notices how far off and exhausted her voice sounds, frown deepening.

“Janus, do you have any breaks throughout the day?”

Janus blinks a bit dopily, still tired and very much in pain. “Why?”

“If our schedules align at any point, I would like to get coffee with you.”

“Are you hitting on me?” Janus asks flatly.

“What? No. I just want to have coffee together.”

“Why?” she practically hisses, her instincts to shove the closeness away rising up in her throat like bile.

“Because you need someone to talk to-“

“I don’t want to talk to you, Logan. Isn’t getting to chat with me for three minutes before class enough for you? Do you really need to be blessed by my presence that much?” Any hint of playfulness is out of her voice, Janus trying not to clench her teeth around the words.

“Your couchmate is my partner’s brother,” Logan interjects soundly, her face determined. “And his brother would like an update on him.”

Janus just sits there, heat boiling under her skin. Of course. The only hint of a friend she thought might be there was somehow tied to those idiots. Of course, because she’s the most cosmically unlucky bitch out there. She doesn’t respond, picking up her bag and setting herself in her crutches. She doesn’t respond, making her way towards the door as fast as she can.

Suddenly, Logan is in front of her, grabbing at her elbows in the crutches and holding her still. Janus blanches, freezing up and looking up into Logan’s face. They have angers on their faces to match each other, in a battle of who will wither first.

“Coffee. When?”

“I don’t want-“

“Janus. We are going to get coffee, and you are going to tell me about how Roman’s brother is, and you are going to tell me why you have never told me a single true fact about yourself, and then if you would like, I can never see you again aside from this single class. I- I enjoy your presence. You are intelligent, and witty, and very bright, even when you’re literally on the ground. Janus, you are very strong, but I still think you’re holding too much.” Logan’s face softens, and Janus breaks the eye contact, staring hard at the floor. “Stop doing this – whatever this is – alone. Take allies where you can, for fuck’s sake.”

Janus hides her shock at the genuine, panicked tone in Logan’s voice, an actual show of emotion. She gnaws on her lip hard, trying to avoid talking for as long as possible. “Fine,” she breathes out shakily. “Fine. I have a free period at 2:30.”

“I have some time around then,” Logan says, seeming to purposefully soften her voice as though she’s afraid she’s scared Janus. Her hands recede from her crutches, and Logan steps to the side, her outfit and hair slightly more frazzled than usual. “Please go to your next class, and I’ll see you then. Our grade comparisons are still very promising.” Logan begins to walk away, then stops. “I think there is more in common between us than you think.

Janus sighs out a held breath, and exits as swiftly as a girl on crutches can manage.

Virgil is buzzing with nervous excitement as Patton drives them down the brief stretch of highway, twirling his hoodie’s drawstrings. He keeps glancing around with a giant smile, eyes constantly shifting.

“We are going to be in so much trouble,” he snickers. Patton shushes him, also giggling.

“It’ll be fine, Virge, I texted the other two that we weren’t meeting up with them for coffee to let them have more time together, and they completely bought it. It’s technically true!”

Virgil laughs. “Where did this spontaneity come from, bluebell?”

“I don’t know, violet!” Patton taps their fingers on the steering wheel, grinning. They pull the car off on an exit, and nearly immediately into the parking lot of a Denny’s. They both exit the car and clasp each other’s hands once they’re at the front, grinning at each other.

“Logan is going to be so mad if she finds out,” Virgil says, a hint of genuine nervousness in his voice. “I don’t know how I feel, lying to her…”

Patton turns to face him, pouting. “Aw, but Virgil, we haven’t had time for a date in so long!” They swing their hands back and forth together softly. “It’s only a few hours of skipped classes, and I got Tammy to copy my teaching classes notes and Rico to handle your engineering notes until we get back – it should be okay.”

Virgil sighs, nodding and sending them a smile. “Okay. Let’s go.”

The host calls a greeting to them as they enter, telling them to sit anywhere. They shuffle into a booth on the same side as each other, Virgil laying his head down on Patton’s shoulder. “This is really risky.”

“How come?”

“I- I don’t know, I just feel like we’ll end up in trouble somehow. You know I hate lying. How I feel about it.”

Patton frowns, turning to him and lifting his chin gently to look at them. “It’s okay, I promise. It’s only a little one just so Lo doesn’t have another panic attack like when Roman skipped that one day last year. I don’t wanna make her any more stressed,” Patton pouts slightly. Virgil looks vaguely uncomfortable for a moment, blinking quickly.

“I trust you,” he mutters, before laying back on their shoulder. Patton rests their head on his, giggling quietly at the feeling of their hair – currently in its natural puffy state and simply held at their shoulders in a ponytail holder and pins - squishing against him.

A waiter comes over to them, and Patton touches Virgil’s hand. “Buy anything you want, okay? I asked Rom to borrow his card.” They turn to the waitress. “What’s the biggest thing of pancakes you can do, ma’am?”

The waitress chuckles. “Only two per the order, but you can get multiple orders.”

“Okay! Three orders of the banana pancake breakfast, please and thank you.”

“And you?”

Virgil startles, rapidly flipping through the menu again while stuttering. “Uh- Cheese fries, and- and the quesadilla. Please.” The waitress nods and smiles at him, walking off after writing it down. Virgil sinks down in his seat, then hides against Patton’s shoulder. “I haaaaate ordering things.”

“Aw, honey…” Patton grabs his cheeks and peppers kisses over his forehead until he’s bright red and batting at them while laughing. Patton grins at him. “I’m really happy we get to go here again. Even if we had to… force in the time for it. I missed just having fun with you.”

Virgil is mostly hiding behind his bangs, but Patton still sees his smile. “Missed it with you too, Pat.”

They end up not even chatting much, just hanging off each other in their seat, occasionally sharing light kisses. When the food comes, Patton thanks the waitress profusely for all six of the pancakes. She lays out multiple syrups, then sets out Virgil’s meal as well.

They both begin digging in immediately, Patton eating fast per usual. “Dang, slow down, you need to let yourself enjoy it,” Virgil comments through bites of his own meal. Patton pauses, dabbing their mouth with a napkin and laughing nervously.

“Sorry!”

“No, it’s okay.” Virgil leans to their ear. “You know I know why you do it – I just want you to focus on fun stuff instead of all that right now. Enjoy it, okay?” Patton gives him a syrupy kiss on the cheek, to which he proclaims, “Gross!” They both dissolve into laughter, and then turn back to their meals.

As Virgil eats, he tries to ignore the nauseous worm of guilt in his stomach that’s not making way for the meal at all. He really, really hates lying, even a harmless one like this. The hand on his chin plus the sugary reassurances were… triggering, he realizes faintly. He leans his chin on one of his palms as he chews, beginning to poke at his food. He hasn’t thought about Janus in a long time, and he prefers it that way. Finding out Remus was staying with her resulted in probably one of the worst anxiety attacks he’s had in a while, even if he never had much faith in Remus in the first place. Though the fear of what lies she could be feeding him right this moment begins making him even more nauseous. She’s a manipulative snake of a person that Virgil had hoped would never be anywhere close to him again, never close enough to lie to him again-

“Virge, you’re panting,” Patton’s voice speaks, drawing him back to the present.

“Huh? Oh, s-sorry. I got a little lost.”

Patton holds his shaking hand softly. “Do your breathing exercises, honey.”

Virgil nods, and complies, breathing in and out in pattern until the world feels slightly clearer. He settles himself, turning his face to lay on their shoulder. “Let’s- let’s not lie like this again. Even if it is really nice to spend time with you. Can you promise?”

Patton nods rapidly. “Of course- I’m really sorry, bug. I didn’t know it would get you that bad.” They lift his face in both hands and rub their foreheads together. “I promise. No more lies if we can help it.”

Virgil calms down a lot at the much more Patton-like show of attention, sighing. He goes back to eating his meal, and from there on it’s only idle chatter as Virgil’s anxiety has worn him out a bit. They pay with Roman’s card and head to the car, heading back into town quickly at Virgil’s request. Virgil curls up at the window, his hood pulled up over his hair as he rests there, hoping that promises can still mean something, even if he has everlasting fears about them.

Janus drags herself to the on-campus coffee shop, annoyingly having to fumble with the door in a way that won’t make her fall over. She immediately spots Logan in a corner, who also spots her and begins making her way over.

“Want me to order you anything?”

“I can order on my own-“

“Janus, please. Allow me to assist you, just for today. You are sweating and you look sick with the pain you are in.” Logan looks at her, eyebrows tilted into a genuine, caring look. “Please.”

Janus sighs. Logan really doesn’t leave much choice to others with the way of authority she speaks. “Okay, fine. I just want chai, I’ll go sit across from where you were.”

She nearly collapses in the chair she chooses, leaning her crutches against the side of said chair and setting her forehead in her hand, exhausted. Logan approaches maybe ten minutes later with the tea and a black coffee for herself. Janus doesn’t thank her as she takes it, but it doesn’t feel like Logan was expecting one in the first place.

“So,” she begins. “To begin with, how is Roman’s twin? I feel that is the easiest subject to delve into.”

“He’s fine,” Janus says with a sigh. “He sleeps, he eats, he cooks, he makes stupid jokes. All healthy behavior of a Remus in the wild.”

“As far as I know he is just a human being,” Logan says, seeming to be trying to show genuine reassurance. Janus just kind of silently stares at her, not even sure what to say to that. Logan continues anyways. “If possible, try to ask him to text his brother back. Roman has been extremely worried these past few days.

“Shocking. Roman is a prissy asshole, I don’t care what he has to say or what he has to say to Remus. They need distance for once in their lives.”

“Could you at least provide updates through me?”

Janus waves her hand dismissively, but nods in agreement.

“Then, on to the next question. Janus, why do I not know anything about you? I can… tend to misunderstand relationships, but I did think of us as at least somewhat friends. Is that not true?”

“No, Logan- No, we technically are friends. A little bit. I wouldn’t talk to you and sit beside you every weekday if I didn’t like you, I typically am not that tolerant of annoying people though it may shock you.”

“I enjoy speaking to you as well, as I said you’re very bright and intelligent. You did not explain why you don’t talk about yourself.”

“I don’t enjoy having others that know things about me.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s bothersome.”

“How?”

Janus sighs, a bit frazzled. “Because when people know information about you, they use it against you and or talk about it behind your back. Such as to a group of old buddies that would be very keen on all the hot goss about Janus and her sick little impoverished life.”

Logans sits back slightly, sipping her coffee. She remains silent. Janus does too, until the silence is making her uncomfortable.

“I’m chronically ill. And poor as dirt. And maybe, just maybe, barely able to afford college in the first place. I’ve been supporting myself and doing everything myself since I was 16, I’m used to it.”

“But it’s killing you.”

“Not if I have a say in it.”

“You no longer ‘have a say,’ your body is breaking down further from the amount of stress you are putting yourself under.”

“Figure that out yourself, doctor?”

Logan stares at her hard. “The majority of chronic illnesses are exacerbated by stress. I don’t need a medical license to know that.” Janus stays silent, examining her gloved fingertips. “For whatever it might be worth, I know the others would not use points like those against you in any way,” Logan attempts to reassure.

Janus scoffs. “I don’t know if you know them that well then, Logan.”

“Did Remus?”

Janus hesitates bitterly. “Well, no. But he was always different. He was… always an outcast too, I guess. So, he isn’t a preppy rich kid or a ‘mommy’s favorite traitor.’ Remus gets it in ways the others never did or will.”

“Still, Roman would like to hear about his brother in one way or another. My intention isn’t to mend a long dead friendship or force any of you to see each other. Given how Virgil reacted at just the mention of your name, I don’t think it is salvageable.”

“Oh, how he reacted. Of course, because he’s the one with the right to feel betrayed and hurt by that shit.” Janus tries not to seethe through her teeth so obviously, but it’s difficult. Knowing that Virgil still somehow thinks he’s in the right is threatening to make her bite off someone’s head. He really will just think he’s better than everyone on earth until the day he dies, huh.

Logan sets her already empty mug on the table between them, looking at her with open curiosity. “None of you are ever very specific over what happened in high school. I do not understand the need to act like nothing will have changed about you as people in three or four years.”

“Losing any ounce of faith in a friend tends to include the faith in them to better as a person.”

“Fascinating,” Logan muses. Janus shoots her a weird look, and she stumbles to correct herself. “A-apologies, the intricacies of human relationships are interesting to me. I didn’t mean to-“

“It’s fine, Logan.”

“You may call me ‘Lo’ if you would like,” she says after a pause.

“What, why? What did I do to earn cutesy nickname privileges, I just insulted your friends and was mean to you on purpose.”

Logan shrugs, a slight smile on her lips. “I don’t know. Call me crazy, but I don’t sway particularly to either side, nor do I trust the two groups to asses each other’s character accurately. I still like you, and I see no reason to discontinue the friendship we have.”

Janus hides her face in her tea, taking a long sip to try putting her thoughts together. Logan doesn’t really strike her as even capable of lying, so there’s no reason to think she would be manipulative – it seems like she really just wants updates on Remus and to keep talking to her in the mornings. It’s weird for her, if she’s honest with herself. Logan’s form of genuineness, just like her way of speech, leaves no room to be questioned or argued with. She puts the cup down, licking her lips nervously.

“Alright, Logan. You get your way, hope you’re pleased. I’ll let you know how Remus is every now and then.”

“And will we remain companions?”

“If you talk as little as possible about those two then we can manage.” Janus sighs, glancing at the time on her phone. “My break is almost over,” she lies, technically still having 20 minutes, but too emotionally exhausted to talk about things like this anymore. “See you in class, I suppose.”

Logan stands as well, watching as Janus scrambles her way into her crutches. “I will see you in class. Hopefully we can get coffee every now and then. Or do other things you are interested in, if you prefer. I could see you aren’t a coffee person.”

Janus nods tersely, ready to just get through the rest of the day, somehow. “I really have to go, but we can chat about it tomorrow morning, ‘kay?”

“Alright. Take more pain killers before the school day ends. Bye.”

“…Bye, Lo.”

Janus makes it through the day, and through the drive home, thanks to some miracle. Remus seems to immediately notice how exhausted she looks, but he hesitates to get up and help her, just rocking and staring at her from the sofa bed as she leans her crutches on the wall and sets away her books. She meets his gaze, leaning on the island to support herself. “Hello,” she offers.

“Hi, Jan! You look like absolute shit; do you need anything?”

Janus gestures vaguely. “I don’t know, Remus. I don’t know what I need.”

“How does eggs and some pastries I got at the place next to my work sound, to start with?” He has a wide, slightly wild smile, and she faintly wishes she could match his energy.

“Just to start? What, do you have plans?”

“Ehh maybe something or other! I did bring a PS4 with me, y’know, and even if you’re too hurting to play with me, you can watch while you eat! I’ll cook for you, go sit! Sit!” Remus scuttles around her and into the kitchen, clanging through her pans and starting up a quick batch of eggs. She sits on the bed, and sees a half-eaten box of doughnuts and other goodies open beside where Remus had been sitting. She rolls her eyes somewhat affectionately, picking up a lemon iced cake. Ridiculous that Remus seemingly cared about her enough to remember her favorite types of pastries after three years.

She listens to him making random noises at himself in the kitchen as though beatboxing badly, and tries to stamp out that wretched warm feeling in her chest. How dare I do this to myself again, she chides herself. How dare my heart get close to more idiots who will only break it.

An hour or so later, with a full stomach and a bit of laughter at how shit at games Remus is, she hates herself a bit less for it. She laughs at him getting headshot by some other player, instinctively hiding her face against his shoulder to mask that she's having fun. Remus’s hands fully pause on the controls, laughing turning a bit breathy as he feels himself flushing. She stays leaned against him even after their laughter has died off, and they fall into silence, rested against each other.

“You’re such an idiot, Carmona. Alas, I think you’re one I’ll be stuck with for life.”

“Y’know, I think I’d be okay with being your idiot my whole life,” Remus chuckles to himself. Janus’s face stays hidden, her hair covering any hint of expression. They both sit still for a long moment before Janus rises.

“Let’s bet on it. If you can win even one round of this game, just one, then I might not kick your ass to the curb tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, you are so on!”

#college au #sanders sides #sanders sides au #tss au #SaSi au #SaSi #tss fanfic #sanders sides fanfic #janus sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #remus sanders #moxiety #dukeceit #platonic loceit

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vancouverkitchenrenovation · 1 year ago

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Measure your kitchen space by measuring the total square footage as well as the dimensions of each area such countertops, cabinets and appliances. It would be best if you also noted any existing structural elements that cannot be removed, such as support beams or load-bearing walls. To visualize how your new design will work together, it is a good idea to create a floorplan layout.

A mood board (or inspiration folder) is a great way of narrowing down your options for kitchen design. Pinterest is a wonderful resource for finding inspiration and images of kitchens you love. You can also pull out pages of magazines and collect paint chips or fabric swatches. This will provide you with valuable information as you begin to plan your renovation.

Once you have a clear idea of how your new kitchen should look, it’s time for you to begin thinking about the timeline and budget. How much money do you have to spend on this project? What are your must has and what do you prefer to have? When will the renovation need to be finished? These questions will help guide you through the planning process.

You will need to consider the cost of materials, appliances and countertops if you are renovating your own kitchen. Also, consider how long it will take and what disruptions the project might cause to your daily life. A contractor will provide a detailed estimate with all costs and a schedule for completion if you are hiring them.

A timeline is crucial for kitchen renovations. It will help you stay on the right track and prevent any surprises. Once you have a clear idea of when each phase should occur, it is possible to start putting together a detailed schedule. To avoid any unanticipated delays, you should be flexible about your timeline.

By following these steps, you can develop a clear plan for your kitchen renovation. This will help ensure that the final result is everything you’ve been dreaming of and that the process runs smoothly from start to finish.

Statistics

It’s a fantastic thing about most home improvement projects: no matter the job. It often seems like the last 20% is the most difficult. (familyhandyman.com)

According to Burgin, some hinges have this feature built-in, but it’s an add-on cost for other models of about $5 retail, adding up to $350 to $500 for an entire kitchen, depending on size. (hgtv.com)

In the Pacific region (Alaska, California, Washington, and Oregon), according to Remodeling Magazine, that same midrange central kitchen remodel jumps to $72,513, and a major upscale kitchen remodels jumps up $11,823 from the national average to $143,333. (hgtv.com)

“We decided to strip and refinish our kitchen cabinets during a heat wave with 90-plus-degree temperatures and 90 percent humidity in a house with no air conditioning. (familyhandyman.com)

Experts also recommend setting aside 20 percent of your budget for surprises, including unpleasant demolition discoveries. One is water damage, the electricity that is not up to code, or other budget-spiking gotchas. (hgtv.com)

External Links

homeadvisor.com

Find out how much it costs for a kitchen remodel by Compose: Search Engine Optimization.

How much does a kitchen remodel increase your home’s value? – HomeAdvisor

forbes.com

Amazing Kitchen Remodel Ideas To Refresh Your Home

houzz.com

Houzz

Kitchen Workbook: 8 Element of a Craftsman’s Kitchen

remodeling.hw.net

2021: Cost vs. Value

Cost vs. Value Project: Minor Kitchen Remodel

How To

What is the Cost of Kitchen Remodeling in 2022 [12 Tips to Help You Save Money]

How much can you spend on a brand new kitchen? The average cost of a kitchen project ranges from $40,000 to $100,000, depending on how ample your space is and what features you want. To get the best price for your home, make sure you have some upgrades in place.

Here are 12 top ways to reduce costs without sacrificing quality.

Get appliances secondhand

DIY projects

Repurpose your old furniture

Reuse salvaged materials

Hire a pro to do the work

Donate your stuff

Sell online

Use paint colors to get creative

Go green

Please keep it simple

Make it unique

Flexibility is key

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expectingtofly · 3 years ago

Text

finally free, they drive

day 1 of @thiscastielhasflown and i's follower celebration

prompt: diners/roadtrip

Twenty-four years ago in Mankato, Minnesota, Dean killed a wendigo with a bottle of Jack and a lighter. He told Cas this, how the flames lit the inside of the cave and his dad had to drag him out because he suddenly couldn’t move, how he stayed silent for a week even though his dad begged him to speak.

Seventeen years ago, in Monte Vista, Colorado, Dean burned the bones of a malevolent spirit that sliced a gash through his chest before he could swing an iron crowbar through her foggy figure. As he and Cas passed by the cemetery where he and his dad had dug up her remains, he could almost picture himself standing between the tombstones, his dad tossing him the lighter. Do the honors.

In Evanston, Wyoming, he and Cas stopped to eat at a diner that looked vaguely familiar. As they sat down at a booth in the back, waitress handing them their menus, it hit him.

“Pretty sure Sam and I went through here before.” He couldn’t remember what they'd been hunting. “Years ago. After dad. You know. Passed.”

And Cas was silent a moment before replying, "I wish I’d known you then."

Then he declared he wanted the French onion soup from the specials of the day, like he hadn’t just spoken Dean's thoughts aloud in his uncanny way of knowing exactly what Dean wished for before Dean knew it himself.

Sometimes, while passing semi-trailer trucks on the freeway, when the setting sun glinted off the metal partition between west and east-headed traffic, he wondered what life would’ve been like if he knew Cas when he was twenty-six. When he was so lonely, his chest felt like a vise at night, and he slipped out of mildewed motel rooms to gasp in chilly night air. When he sought out crowded bars because accidental nudges and jostles were substitutes for caresses.

What might’ve changed if he'd known Cas when he was twenty-two, when Sam left for college and Dad left with a cutting, Don't look for me. If, confronted with an angel then, he would’ve been able to believe in good things, if he would've kissed him to not feel so alone.

The radio played Dolly Parton at a diner in Des Moines, a young couple sat at the counter, Cas stacked small containers of strawberry jelly and orange marmalade into a tower, and Dean imagined sitting across from him when he was nineteen. But then Cas looked up at him triumphantly over perfectly balanced preserves, and the what-if's dissolved in a growing warmth in his chest. Cas had been right after all. Good things did happen.

They drove without a destination now that they didn’t need one, changing course frequently, turning off exits to follow signs for roadside attractions, homestyle meals, and scenic overlooks.

Prairie and forest, coast and desert. He'd traveled these roads before, but he was paying attention now. Everything looked different with Cas sitting by his side, when every glance to his right revealed Cas already looking at him.

Re-heated diner leftovers and slices of pie for breakfast, crumbs on the bed, brown bags in the backseat, lunch breaks at rest stops, sitting on the hood to unwrap grease-stained burger wrappers, kept warm from the sun coming through the car’s windows.

Baby had been his home for years. He'd learned her nooks, her curves, how best to settle on the benchseat and tuck his jacket against the door to wake without a crick in his neck.

Moving into the bunker, he'd claimed a room, made a space for every item he owned: a hook for every weapon, a box for every photo, a hanger for every jacket. The concrete walls and sterile bathrooms meant order, control.

He used to be afraid that if he let one item fall out of place, he'd lose his grip on the delicate thread which held him together.

Crackling radio in Omaha, searching for a station. Cassette-tapes pulled out of a box that he hadn’t rifled through since a time when angels were still a myth, god didn’t exist, and death was always close, but not someone they knew by name. Black Sabbath, Motorhead, Metallica. Then, out of Cas' pocket, his own “Top 13 Zepp Traxxs,” which he was surprised to learn Cas still kept, the words on the label faded.

“It was a gift,” Cas said, tucking the cassette into the deck and turning up the volume.

Busy diners where their food took ages to come to their table and Dean doodled on napkins to pass the time. Stuffed them into his pocket and forgot until he pulled them out while looking for change to pay for gas. A tiny Impala, a sun with dashes for rays, sigils, tiny flowers which Cas had added to the corners.

An argument on I-70 and sixty-two miles of tense silence. "If you don't speak to me, I can't understand," Cas said, voice quiet under the whir of tires on the road.

Dean changed lanes, watched a tarp flap over the bed of a pick-up truck. "I don't know how," he admitted.

Cas let out a breath that sounded like relief. "We'll learn."

He learned Cas liked brightly colored shirts labeled with the names of locations they visited, oversized because tight sleeves made him itch. He learned that the strangely named items on diner menus had backstories that owners behind counters were all too eager to share when Cas prompted them. He learned Cas hovered in doorways as if he was waiting to be invited inside, learned Cas knew every upbeat song playing over the radio in gas stations, had nightmares too, could stay silent for seventy miles then speak a thought aloud that left Dean stunned for seventy more.

He taught Cas how to pass the time on roads that stretched to the horizon. Name a movie for every letter of the alphabet. Name three items you'd take to a deserted island. Name everyone we've lost along the way—he didn't mean to begin talking about them, but they seemed closer than ever before on the open road, under a vast, cloudless sky. The wind whisked their names from their mouths, and Dean liked the idea of them still existing, here, around them.

A map open on his lap, Cas circled every town they stopped at, traced their route with a red pen. Folded and unfolded the page until the creases made the snaking lines nearly illegible. "I want to remember," he told Dean, and Dean traced the creases to feel their route under his finger. The steering wheel was warm under his palms, the diner floors sticky under his boots, the motel sheets stiff when he pulled them back from the headboard, and he told Cas, "Pinch me," in the dark of an eighty-dollar-a-night room. Cas touched his face and kissed him instead.

The rocky coast off of Oregon delighted Cas. He rolled up his pant legs, clutched Dean's hand as they walked unsteadily over the slippery rocks to step into the Pacific Ocean. The wind whipped his hair over his face and he pushed back the strands, grinning back at Dean. Sometimes at night, when Cas slept curled into him, Dean looked at the photo he'd taken of him and wished he had a place of their own to frame it.

Long phone calls to family and friends who told them to take their time, do not disturb signs hung on motel doorknobs, winding backroads and detours. He grew out his hair and told Cas he needed a cut. Cas twisted his fingers through the strands, and mused, "I like it." Dean kept it and noticed the strands curled at the ends.

A sign on the highway in Ohio read, "Hell is Real." He still had nightmares. As cornfields passed, Cas recounted seeing his soul for the first time, and sometimes Dean imagined he remembered the safety of Cas' wings as he pulled him out of the depths of Hades.

Cas got sick in Idaho, complained, voice echoing in the toilet bowl, "I told you that diner was not sanitary." Dean rubbed his back and told him he'd write a scathing review. In West Virginia, over a pile of spilled salt and stale fries that were probably nuked behind the counter, Cas told him he loved him. It wasn't for the first time, but his breath still caught in his throat.

They ate fried okra in Oklahoma City, beignets in New Orleans, and Dean requested Earth Angel on a jukebox in a vinyl and chrome diner in Wisconsin. Slid into the booth to press against Cas' side and watch him fill out postcards. Did you know dinosaurs once roamed where the Rockies now stand? Don't know when we'll be back. We bought new cassettes to add to the collection and I convinced Dean to let me choose the music. Still so much we haven't seen.

The magic fingers bed at the King's Court Motel cost four quarters for fifteen minutes—three more than when he was younger, he griped to Cas. The vibrating massage didn't seem quite as relaxing as he remembered, but maybe he was just used to more magical fingers—this he accompanied with an exaggerated wink which made Cas roll his eyes.

The Impala broke down on Route 66, and the asphalt radiated heat as he ducked under the hood. Cas hovered at his side and he realized he didn't have the tools to fix her.

They ate lunch at a mom-and-pop’s restaurant as they waited for the mechanic to finish, and Cas gave him the pickle from his sandwich. "I'm sorry I never asked you to stay," Dean told him and wished he'd said it earlier. "I never wanted you to leave."

Cas gave him a sad smile. "It's in the past." He tapped his foot against Dean's under the table, and Dean hooked his ankle with his foot.

Cas parted the curtains in every motel they slept in, tilted his face to the sun beaming through the windshield, urged Dean to stop for a cardboard sign reading Fresh Strawberries $2. Reruns of The Three Stooges made Dean laugh until he wiped tears from the corners of his eyes, had to catch his breath. This happiness didn't seem so fragile, this time. When they turned on the TV tomorrow night three hundred miles away, The Three Stooges would play into the morning, and when he told Cas he loved him, Cas would say it back.

Crossing over rippling water or curving through wooded land, he and Cas spoke a cabin in the woods, a house on the coast, a home. Dean's head filled with the future instead of the past. Every mile that passed under their tires brought them closer to this dream—or so he thought, until he stopped at a red light, and Cas took his hand, and he realized home sat beside him now.

In a diner in Arkansas, Cas read from a menu, plastic corners curling, and commented, "No matter where we go, every place serves an iceberg wedge salad."

Dean replied, "I think I'm ready to stop driving."

He didn't know where they'd park the Impala for good, but he pictured somewhere with windows, patches of sunlight on the floor. The details didn't matter so much, though, not so long as he had Cas.

"For you to me are the only one," he sang over Robert Plant, glancing at Cas as he turned up the radio, wind whistling through the open windows, road humming under their feet. Happiness, no more be sad, happiness, I'm glad.

#j&kcreatorfest #rambleoncas #shelikestv #user-brooke #userdori #userstarry #tearsofgrace #destiel fic #just some fluff #bc i love the idea of dean and cas taking a long roadtrip after s15 #to bond and work thru stuff #<3 #established dean/cas #expectingtofly writes

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justallofmyfandoms · 4 years ago

Text

Revenge is best served Small

Reader x Fred Weasley

Reader x George Weasley

NO TWINCEST!!

SMUT! SMUT! SMUT!

(Just to make this less awkward on all of us, yes I am clearly going through some stuff, and yes everyone enjoys what happens to them in this, even if it's reluctantly. Nothing unconsensual. 6,486 words)

[There’s a comment on this post that perfectly summarises it: “i have no idea what just happened to me all i know is that i will never be the same after reading this” so... read at your own risk my dudes, I am so sorry]

You slam a fist into the common room desk, glaring down at your potions homework with enough anger to perform the killing curse on it. Or maybe crucio would be better, just so the homework can suffer all the same pains it's inflicting on you.

A chair at the table scraps against the floor with someone plonking themselves on it. You look up to see Fred Weasley, leaning over the desk to stare down at your paper, "Having trouble with your potions essay?" He asks, evidently just to piss you off because it's pretty obvious you were.

"Bugger off, Weasley. We can't all pay zero attention during class and still get perfect grades" you focus back on your work, but not fast enough to miss Fred's shit eating grin.

"Still mad I got a better grade on our end of semester test?"

"No!" You snap back, perhaps a little too quickly. It made the ginger chuckle. You and the twins had been good friends since first year, but it infuriated you to no end every time they got a good grade, because you just knew it was all talent and no effort.

The twin crossed his arms and leant them on the table, scooting closer to you, "Not that I don't love the look of anger on your face, but why does it annoy you so much? You've been going on about this for six years"

"It doesn't matter, I just wanna get this stupid essay over with!" you complain, throwing your quill on the desk, "Where's your brother, anyway? He said he would help me."

Fred pats your head and sighs, "Ditched by your own boyfriend? There's tragic..." You knew he was just being a prick, Fred always did enjoyed teasing you, but you hadn't seen George all day. It was beginning to worry you. Besides, you two had made it a tradition to do your potions homework together ever since third year.

"He actually sent me here to apologise. He's at tonight's party up in Ravenclaw tower. The ol' sod's drunk a bit too much to help out I'm afraid"

You sit up and frown, the anger being pushed to the back of your mind out of newfound sadness, "Oh... he could have at least told me he was going to the party..."

Fred nods sympathetically, but eventually grins and scoots closer, "In the meantime, how about a deal?" You'll be getting whiplash from all these emotions. First anger, then hurt, and now Fred was making you highly suspicious. He has that expression he gets when dreaming up a crazy plan.

"If you help me with a little scheme I've concocted, I'll help you finish your essay" he continues since the only reaction you initially gave was a squint.

"What kind of scheme?"

He drums the table, bitting back a smile that might warn you off, "I've come up with a new product idea, but in order to make it, I need a very rare ingredient that can only be found in one place"

You sigh, resting your cheek against your raised fist, "Snape's supply closet..."

He points at you like in charades, "Exactly!"

"How do I know you'll actually help me? Making a deal with you is a bit like making a deal with the devil"

"We'll get the essay done tonight!" He declares, spinning the paper to face him, and picking up a nearby quill, "Then tomorrow, you'll help me get the potion"

After a fair amount of consideration, you nod, "Alright, deal!"

"Remind me again what the plan is?" You and Fred were stood in the women's bathroom on the first floor, a bathroom you generally tried to avoid as it was occupied by a particularly annoying ghost called Moaning Myrtle. She didn't seem to be revealing herself though, which you assumed had something to do with Fred teasing her about her nickname and the... other connotations "moaning" has.

Fred took a small vial from his trouser pocket. The contents were green and bubbling, "First, I'll drink this shrinking potion, then you'll take me in your robe pocket all the way to Snape's classroom and put me on the third shelf up next to his supply closet. I'll sneak in through the hole my brother and I drilled there years ago, grab the bottle and get out!"

"You mean you and George have done this before?" you asked, watching as he set the bottle down on the edge of the sink, taking off his robe to hang it over the cubicle wall

He turned back to watch him roll the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows, "Yeah, every now and then if we need tough to find ingredients"

"And what exactly do I do?"

"Well, while I'm getting the bottle, you keep an ear out for Snape, then when I get out, you grab me and the bottle, put me in your robes and bring us back here so I can have my regrowth potion" he pulls another vial out of his pocket which is red and shiny.

"Sound good" you say, while he plonks the potion back into his pocket, and pops off the cork on the shrinking one.

"Bottoms up" he says, and downs the contents. The second he does, Fred begins to shrink! His clothes, thankfully, shrink down in size with him, until finally, he was no bigger than your pinky.

"Wow!" You exclaim, squatting down, "This is super dangerous. I could step on you."

"Please don't..." Fred mutters, his pitch the exact same despite his small size, just a bit quieter due to the distance and size of his mouth and all that. Damn, TV and movies have lied to you. A look of mild horror suddenly adorns Fred's face as he pulls something out from his trouser pocket. It's so small, you had trouble realising it was his regrowth potion, "Oh bugger! I forgot about that..."

You were tempted to lie down on your stomach and be as close as you could to eye level, but you doubted that would be very sanitary on the bathroom floor, "What's wrong?"

"I just realised I let the potion shrink with me! Now it won't work! It'll only grow me back to the size of a foot, if we're lucky"

"Speaking from experience?"

"Unfortunately." he shivers, "But it's okay, we'll just have to stop off at my room afterwards to get some more. I always make extra if I can afford to"

"Well that's good. Ready to go?"

"Absolutely" he held up his arms and you scooped him up like you would a wand. You got to your feet and were about to place him in your pocket when you noticed you still had your potions essay folded up inside. Fred had helped you finish it last night, the legend. Took you until 4 am to finish writing it.

You put him in your breast pocket instead, for fear that your robes might fly around too much and he might fall out, or that someone might bump into you and squash him. The breast pocket was at least hidden and safe. Besides, there were still two layers separating him from your actual boobs.

You opened the door and peaked your head through, checking to see if anybody was there. Nobody. Brilliant. Hurrying down the cobbled hallway, you B lined to the stairs leading down to the dungeons, and hurried to the classroom door. You and Fred had a free period right now, so that would explain why it seemed you and he were the only ones not in class. Despite how thankful you were for Fred's help, you wouldn't have skipped lessons to do this, it's risky enough as it is. Fast walking now, you peeped your head into Snape's office, where beyond it lay the door to his private stash.

"He better not come, Fred, or I'll squash you"

"Don't worry, he's in his lesson! Only got one potions teacher"

You thought this over and realised that yeah, there is only one... why the fuck do they only have one teacher for each subject? Do they get breaks? That's unlikely seeing as they have to teach all four houses in all seven years over the span of only five days a week. That's mental that is. Regardless, you would have the time to ponder this later, for now you had a potion to steal. You crept into Snape's office and shut the door, pulling out your wand and enchanting "Colloportus" to lock it behind you.

Fred really knew what he was talking about, because there were indeed shelves next to the closet door. The third one up was even covered with books, and when you grabbed Fred out from your pocket and plonked him on the shelf, he pointed to the dusty copy of 'The Moral Implications of Love Potions' and you took it out to reveal a hole behind it big enough for tiny Fred, “This looks like an interesting read..." you mutter, flipping over to read the blurb. There was a mini scoff, and by mini you mean it was produced by a mini person.

"Right, well, you have fun reading that, I'll search for the potion. Be back in a second" and he was off, disappearing through the hole. You sigh, fidgeting with anxiety at possibly getting caught. Doesn't make sense though, Snape is in class, he has no reason to come in here. When do lessons end anyway? You glance around for a clock but don't find any. Serves you right for not wearing a watch... would a watch even work at Hogwarts?

You flipped open the book and began reading a random page: Dr Eglantine proposed the following moral dilemma: if two people love each other but are too afraid to admit to one another, is it wrong for one of them to drug the other with love potion? Wizarding philosophers are torn on this issue, and when intercourse is involved, the grey area becomes even larger—

There was a loud bang from outside, which made your heart drop. You scurry over to the door, pressing your ear against the cool wood, holding your breathe in hopes of hearing better. The sound of students filled your ears, but not just a few students having a free period, but a whole herd of them. That could only mean one thing: class had ended... Oh fuck!

"Fred!" you cry out in the quietest panic you can muster, scurrying over to the hole, "Snape is coming."

"Almost... there!" Fred called between grunts, emerging with the bottle. You snatched it up, preparing to despose of it into your pocket when Fred raised a valid argument, "Don't put it in there! Snape will check your pockets when he finds you here!" He began downing his second potion, growing only to the size of a regular sized hand, "Damn"

"Oh, right" you scan your body for another hiding place, then the thought came to you. You shove the vial up your shirt and into your bra.

"Great, now me!" Fred exclaims, raising his arms up.

"I can't put you in my bra! You're too big, he'll see you!" You scoop him, holding his torso like a toothbrush.

He stares up at you in stunned confusion, "Really? That was what was wrong with that plan?"

You realised you ought to have said 'no you pervert I'm not letting you touch my boobs' but now wasn't the time to curse yourself for it. Your heart was hammering with fear, inspecting your body for somewhere to stash him. The doorknob rattled, and the sickeningly familiar tone of Snape's voice cursed that it was locked. Your time was up, there was only one thing for it! You pulled away the elastic of your skirt and stuck him down there,

“WOAH—!" He yelped, hair practically standing on end.

"Just hold onto the elastic along the outside and we should be fine!" You put him onto your outer right thigh, knowing full well that a pair of shorts and a pair of underwear and a whole thigh were separate him from... that.

"Alohamora!" the door swung open just as you were putting the book back, and there stood Snape, in all his emo glory. He froze, clearly having not expected to find anyone inside. Once the shock had left his system, he straightened up and glared at you, “What exactly do you think you are doing?" his nasally voice grilled, doing nothing good for your nerves, which were in absolute tatters at the moment.

"I was looking for you, w-when someone locked me in the class" you scramble, the lie just about the worst you could come up with. You had to remind yourself that Fred was on the outside of your thigh. Considering he was in your skirts at all, that was the most innocent position he could be in. All he had to do was hold on to the elastic of your shorts and you should be fine!

"Why?" he trudged further into the classroom.

"Why was I looking for you or why did someone lock me in the class—?"

"Why were you looking for me?" His booming voice told you that you were on thin ice.

"Ah yes, well, I... I was having trouble with the essay assigned for tomorrow, and thought maybe you could help me"

Snape closed the door and came to lean on his large desk, "Do you really expect me to believe that one of my students, who has never once asked a question in six years, is now asking a question?"

You frown, so suddenly insulted that you almost forgot about Fred on your leg, "Professor Snape, I ask questions all the time"

"Oh, how unmemorable you are then" he sneers, making you fume, "Regardless, I'm going to need to search your pockets"

You sighed, "Yes, sir"

He stalked over to you, holding out a hand for your robes. You pushed the sleeves off each shoulder, removing it, and dumped it into his palm. As he began to examine it, you felt Fred's shoes scrapping against your skin. It's as though he's trying desperately to find a foothold, no doubt still exhausted from having to push the bottle. If he falls, not only will you be caught, but Fred could get seriously injured!

Again, you knew what you had to do but hesitated to do it. As subtly as you could, you extended the elastic of your skirt, took Fred out, then plonked him into your shorts. His entire body went flush against yours, no doubt the skin tight shorts were crushing him. As long as there was no more risk of him falling... Hopefully it wasn't suffocating him though.

"If it's too tight, move" you hissed, keeping your eyes trained on Snape, who unfortunately heard you.

"What did you say?"

"I said—" you took a sharp breath, feeling Fred's back sink further into the fat of your thigh as he pushed away the area of fabric suffocating him, "If it's too tight, move" you repeated loudly for the two men in the room. "The pockets get a bit stuck sometimes so you have to jostle it around a bit" you added to give fake context to an instruction that wasn't even meant for Snape.

The shadowy teacher was evidently confused, but decided to ignore your outburst. Meanwhile, you could feel Fred inching along the front of your thighs, moving closer to your core. This was fine, as you didn't exactly want him to asphyxiate in your shorts, that would be a tragic way to go. You did hope, however, that he wouldn't overshoot his target, and fall into the abyss between the crotch and pant leg. Just as you had thought it, you felt the man slip. You gasped, pressing your legs a little closer together, enough for him to reach out and grab the first piece of fabric he could get his hands on. Unfortunately for the both of you, that piece of fabric were your panties. You wondered whether he knew what he was doing, when he began to scramble onto it, lying down flat onto the crotch like a hammock. Your question was quickly answered by the sensation of his arms sticking into your folds, and the subsequent wriggling of regret.

Sucking in a deep breath, you had to grip the nearby desk with all your might to stop a loud moan escaping your lips. Regardless of how bizarre and awful this situation was, having anything rub against your clit was an arousal waiting to happen. Poor guy must have though those were your shorts he grabbed before... You were just about to dig in and help, when Snape extended your robes back to you. You'd have to walk, with mini Fred mushed into you vagina, all the way to grab it. Praying he might forgive you one day, you stepped forward, effectively compromising Fred's escape, trapping him between your knickers and crack. Talk about getting stuck between a rock and a hard place.

"Very well, I will take a look at your homework" and he rounded the desk, unfurling the essay he had taken from your pocket and sitting down in preparation to help. You swallow, approaching the table as he skimmed through it. He paused for a moment to look up, "Well, sit down" he ordered.

Staring down at the chair, you gulped. Every time you sit down during class, the skin tight shorts you wear, under your Hogwarts skirt, ride up into your ass. Having that happen right now is about as undesirable as they come, "Um, I'd rather not, if that's alright with you"

He blinked and looked back down at your work, "Well anyway, the beginning of your essay seems promising." You smiled, that was the part you wrote by yourself. Just wait until he gets to the part Fred helped you with. There were things he told you on the topic that you swore you had never heard before, you'll look like such an expert! Speaking of, the unfortunate blighter had given up on his attempts to leave, probably worried that his efforts might be thwarted again by your moving thighs. He was now using his hands and knees to keep himself pushed away from you. If you thought about it hard enough, you could convince yourself Fred was just a bumpy pad with a tuft of hair on the end... that moved.

Alright now body, I know you're an animal that listens to its instincts more than its brain, but please don't respond the same way you usually do when something— anything is pressing against you. You thought to yourself. We are not creating any new weird kinks today, thank you very much. Besides, the poor guy is going through enough as it is.

"You think Felix Felicis was created by Felix Williams... and that it contains balm, angel's trumpet, bitter root, and a single strawberry cooked under a full moon" he looked up from your work, pinning you with an expression of cold unamusement.

He must be testing you. Fred's a prankster but he isn't a dick... most of the time. He wouldn't. He couldn't! "Yes...?"

"Your Wolfsbane... does it contain any other nonsense ingredients I should know about?"

You froze, as did the guy in your pants. He must have heard, and Merlin have mercy he was going to pay for what he'd done!

This was just like that incident in fourth year all over again! You were in the showers after a quidditch match and Fred snuck in and stole your clothes and towel. When you realised you would had to run butt fucking naked all the way to your room, you were absolutely furious. Fred was lounging in the common room, along with twenty or so other people, and they all watched as you went gunning for the stairs. George felt awful, having not known his brothers prank, and offered to obliviate anyone who talked about it. It was then you realised Fred could be kind of a dick, and George was the man for you.

Fascinated by just how much Fredrick Weasley had fucked you over yet again, you decided to plop down on the chair opposite Snape. The moment you did, the skin tight shorts became skin tight. Fred's entire body went flush against yours, sending a delicious zap up your spine that attempted to summon a moan you coughed back, “Sorry, I wasn't trying to insult you with my work... I got a friend to help and it seems he was just taking the piss" Fred was moving, his chest bumping and smoothing over your clit. You had to actively try not to squeeze your thighs around him to increase the pressure.

George had bought you a dildo once as a "joke" (he just wanted to watch you wank yourself off, the kinky bugger) and you had run it between your folds, but that pailed in comparison to this. This was far better. Fred is made up of so many intricate parts, each of them squirming against you. His legs, for example, were kneading the source of your arousal. His shoes were in there now, using it as a foothold to try and push his way out. It was heavenly.

"Now I might remember you, as the girl with a poor judge of character" Snape interjected, pulling you out of your sexual haze. If the context were different, you might have gotten mad, but you couldn't bring yourself to at the moment. Not while you were getting oh so sweet revenge on a certain someone, "Well, for starters, dragon bone isn't an ingredient in any of these, so we might as well cross that off the list—" he took his red ink and began marking your paper. His voice became a distant drone in the background as you disassociated once against, focusing on how Fred had began shimmying his way to freedom. If only you could quicken his pace. If only you could rock your hips and fuck yourself against him. You weren't available to move, but he certainly was.

Leaving the one hand there on the desk, to rest your chin against, the other snuck under the table and under the hem of your skirt and shorts. Your fingers hovered above him, a little unsure what to do, until the index finger took initiative and pressed down onto his back through the pants. If he wasn't mushed against you before, he sure as hell was now. His hands slap your folds, but you could feel his head angled up for air. He should be fine.

You experiment by pushing him up. There his chin is triggering the most sensitive nerves of your clit! You roll your hips to savour it, using your thumb to squash his head down and create a more prominent friction. The round nature of his face and bumps making up his features created the most delicious rub. You had to loop your feet behind the desk's legs in order to stop your thighs from crushing him. When he slaps you for air, you reluctantly moved your thumb and pushed his body down. Now his feet were teasing your entrance with the sensation of being filled. You sat down more firmly onto your chair to shove him deeper inside of you. You pushed him up again, then down, up, down, repeating the gesture while his limbs squirmed, awakening new flesh with every swipe. Your middle finger joined the index's perch on his back to pick up the pace. You bit your lip and sucked a deep breath through your nose to push down all the noises that were bubbling to the surface. The only thing that could have moulded you any better than Fred would have been a literal mould. Even then, it wouldn't have been nearly so fun to hump.

You were now rolling him against you in deep tight circles. Your hips were swaying in time, and as much as you wanted to use your whole hand to rub him madly against you, you thought Snape might notice your entire arm thrusting under the table. Unconsciously, your thighs tighten around him, sucking him almost up into you. You lull your head back and arch into him, sighing in bliss. When Snape looked up, you snapped your head back down and froze, biting your fist in order to stop yourself whining in disapproval.

"Does that make sense?"

"Yes sir" what on earth were you agreeing to? You hadn't the foggiest.

"Then don't waste my time with useless garbage like this again. If you haven't produced a coherent, serious essay by tomorrow, I'll be deducting twenty points from your house. Now go!" He pointed to the door.

You had half a mind to snap back, but thought: to hell with him! You had things that needed your immediate attention, and no hooked nose, greasy hair, middle aged virgin was going to ruin that for you! “Very well, thank you sir" you stood up, and to your eternal disappointment, it loosened the strain of your clothes to unstick Fred from your cunt.

Exiting the class, you were devastated to find the hallway packed with students ready for their next potions lesson. The women's bathroom was just around the corner and up the stairs. All you had to do was get to it. You sped walked around the students, opting to push some aside rather than do any fancy footwork and likely squash the man inside of you. From the lack of movement, you guessed he had probably made peace with the situation. Luckily for you though, the movement of your walking kept banging him against you, and you had to stop yourself from dropping to the floor right then and there to grind him furiously against you.

When finally you had made it to the bathroom, casting "Colloportus" on the door for some privacy, you froze at the sight of someone stood inside with their back to you. You recognised those ginger locks straight away.

"George?" you called. He let go of the robe he was examining over the cubicle door and beamed, bounding up to you with all the excitement of a puppy.

"Darling! I've been looking for you everywhere, where have you been?"

What to say, what to say. You doubted rubbing your shrunk brother against my vagina in revenge would be largely acceptable, so you opted to white lie, "Oh, I needed Snape to help me with my potions essay"

George frowned, "Why'd you do that? I could have helped you. Can't imagine ol' hook nose was as fun as me"

"Well maybe if you weren't at that party last night—"

"What party?"

Judging by Fred's immediate scramble to break free, you imagined George was about to tell you something that would spell out very bad news for his twin. To stop his escape, you move a hand behind your back to fist your underwear and hoist it up, making it impossible to give way, "Fred told me you were at the Ravenclaw party last night..."

George's chocolate brown eyes widen in horror, immediately replaced by a scowl as he looked up to curse the air. Little did he know he actually should have been glancing down if he wanted to curse his brother. His squirming against you was making this entire thing leagues better, "What? Oh that prick! I was sick last night with a cold and sent him to apologise to you because I didn't want you catching it while Madam Pomfrey's sweets took effect"

Your cunt was fluttering in anticipation for what long and hard revenge you were about to take. Fred was scrambling so wildly, you couldn't wait to get down to business, "That asshat. He said you were drunk and convinced me to steal some stupid potion with him"

George's anger multiplied, "Bloody hell! I told him not to do that"

"What do you mean?" You were genuinely curious, but your body had literally no care in the world. It was hoisting your pants even higher to keep Fred glued there, wriggling your hips as your breathing became laboured.

George didn't seem to notice, "He was planning on making a thing of love potion with it. Told him it was a stupid idea and he was perfectly popular enough to get anyone he wanted without it. He's got hundreds of girls and guys in the past, I can't think of who he thought he needed to trick..." you consider it for a moment. That was a very good question, it's strange for Fred to care so much about someone... but this could be left for another time.

You hook your foot behind George's leg and brought it forward to wedge it in between yours. Without warning you hopped up and felt Fred immediately sink into your flesh. You doubled over, gripping George's shoulders, and moaning to savour the feel of being entirely and completely touched. George had to brace his hands against the door either side of your head to stop himself from falling over. In surprise rapture, he watched as you were already so unravelled. Finally, the surface you needed. Twins were supposedly two halfs of a whole, and never before had that sentiment rung so true. His leg was the missing component that pushed Fred so absolutely into you, no margin of error. All of him was rubbing against you now as you began humping without mercy.

You thrust yourself forwards and backwards, side to side, around in broad circles. Your folds accommodated him so well, stretching to make sure he always stayed between them. At times you were almost sure you could feel them curling around him, to keep him there as a permanent feature. Tempting indeed, he certainly made walking more fun, and imagine the possibilities in History of Magic. He could get you off under the table without anyone having a clue!

Fred was becoming slick with your arousal, lubricating him into slipping and sliding into usually unattainable flesh you never knew yearned for touch. And because of George's pressure under him, his hold on those neglected areas of your cunt was positively sinful. You throw your head back, your hands on George's shoulders, tugging up and down to massage yourself against Fred.

"What is that bump in your pants?" he finally questioned, having snapped out of his shock.

"Just a sex toy" you reply earnestly, making no alterations to your position.

There was a sudden sting on your clit that made you yelp and stop for a moment. Fred must have bit you... and it was incredible. You wondered whether you could get him to do it again, "It's loves being in there while I fuck myself with it. A tool for my pleasure" You were bouncing up and down like a rubber ball, poking him to react. He still wasn't doing anything to participate, but it was fine. You were doing more than enough for the both of you. All he needed to do was be there as you pounded yourself onto him. Then, your continuous lifting and applying onto him made his shoulder lodge so deep inside of you, you let out a howling moan, crushing George's lips to yours in order to muffle the sheer volume of the scream. He pulls your bottom lip into his mouth, urgently swiping his tongue against yours. You moan and put everything you have into the kiss, allowing him to dive in and taste you. George's lips began to wander, bitting, nibbling and sucking his way to your pulse. His hands came up to hastily undo your tie and shirt, pushing them aside to reveal your bare stomach. As he works your skin into his mouth, creating a glorious love bite on the swell of your neck, his palms fan out across your stomach. You take a sharp breath, as he caressed towards your bra, grinning against you when he notices it's the one he got you for Valentine's Day that unhooks at the front. Lucky coincidence, all your other ones were just dirty.

"I leave you for one night and you become a horny mess" George teases, his hands gliding down your sides to grip your hips. He nudged your legs apart, spreading you wider over your toy. Although he didn't take over the pace, he certainly sped you up. God you could have kissed him for knowing exactly how to whind up your pleasure. A shame then that his mouth was currently occupied with other things. You tangle your hands into his hair as he strokes your nipple with his tongue, pulling it into his mouth and hollowing his cheeks to suck it hard. Your head lulled back to angle yourself further into him, whimpering at how close your climax was.

Seemed Fred was just as desperate to get it over with as you were. He was now doing everything in his power to jack you off. He had somehow managed to grasp your clit between his hands, and paired with your thrusting it created a borderline unnatural amount of pleasure. You were screaming with moans. But somehow more importantly than all that, he had his leg plunged inside of you.

That was it. The idea had been toying in your mind this whole time, but now you knew you needed him inside if you. "Wait a second George" you breathed, perching yourself a little higher in order to stick a hand down your panties, pinching Fred so his arms were trapped by his sides, and sliding him, feet first, through your entrance, until nothing showed of him but his head.

Head back, mouth open in an overjoyed groan, something in you snapped. You didn't even have to thrust him in and out. He was twisting, his arms and legs were flailing in the little space available to them. The walls were hugging his every curve, likely trying to suction him to the back. It was the combination of George flicking your nipple with his tongue and Fred massaging your insides that had you finally unravelling. Hot, slick, arousal came dribbling past what little gaps Fred’s body provided, and you went limp in his brother’s arms with one final howl.

George straightened up to hold you close, stroking your hair until you were ready to stand on your own again, “Nifty toy you got there. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you quite so animalistic” he chuckled.

Wiping the sweat of your brow off on your robes, you tried to make yourself look presentable again, smirking up at your boyfriend as you redid the buttons of your shirt, “Yes, well, nothing beats actual sex with you. Wanna go for a round two in your room?”

He beams, “Course! Want me to wait?”

“Nah, I’ll meet you up there” you gesture him away. Normally you would ask him to stay, but you had something to deal with first.

“Alright, see you in five” all excited, he ran for the door, then turned back just as he had performed the unlocking spell to give you a quick peak on the lips, then off he went.

Rummaging around in your shorts, you sigh as you unclog your hole, the contents stringing against Fred as you lift him to eye level. Merlin he looked awful. His fiery hair was stood on end, gelled up with your cum. His white shirt was practically transparent and clung to his abs as though it have been soaked in water. His eyes were a little bloodshot probably from liquid splashing into them, and his lips were rather swollen, like they would be after making out with someone for too long or too roughly. Just generally, your essence was rolling off of him in big globs. You placed your other hand to your mouth and giggled at his appearance, but he seemed the furthest thing from amused. His arms were crossed over his chest, a highly displeased scowl etched across his face.

“Oh don’t look at me like that!” you say, “If you hadn’t planned the robbery so terribly, or lied to me on twooccasions in the 8 hours proceeding it, getting me to write a whole 4 thousand word essay on things that were complete horseshit, humiliating me on front of Snape and—“

“Alright alright—!” He had softened up a little, averting eye contact, but you didn’t care.

“No! I’m not done!” That got his attention again, “Fred, you have been a dick to me for the past six years! Sure, you’re funny and can be sweet sometimes, but most of the time you don’t know where the line is! You prank me all the time, it’s relentless! And today you bloody pushed me over the edge. I had a perfect means of getting revenge and damn it I took it.”

He shrugs, “Whatever, I guess we’re even now”

You open your mouth to continue arguing but snap it shut when you realised what he had said. That really took much less convincing than you though, probably because you were feeling a smidge guilty for going so far in the heat of anger. It’s not like he orgasmed or anything... well if he did you wouldn’t be able to tell, his trousers were drenched, “Yeah, I guess...”

You waddled to the sink, turning both faucets on for lukewarm water, plonking him in the basin to clean off the sticky residue. You then hobbled into the closest stall to grab a wad of tissue and wipe yourself clean with it. Despite how absolutely caked in the stuff Fred was, you were still drenched. You exit the stall a couple of minutes later to find him completely washed down, "Right, let's get you back to your normal size, but let's put you in my pocket this time..."

"What a shame. I had really learned to call your vag my home" the sarcasm drooled from his lips.

You scooped him up, pinning him with a warning eye, "I'll put you back in there if you're not careful."

"Sorry sorry sorry!" he back peddled, extending his arms like a man about to be hit by an unforgivable curse. You gently lay him in your pocket, and snapped your head up to find Moaning Myrtle staring at you in disbelief.

"Umm..." the ghost muttered, for once in her life (or death) at a loss for words.

"Don't tell anyone what you saw here today, Myrtle" you warned, pointing a long threatening finger at her, "Not like they'd believe you anyway"

She nodded vigorously and dove into the nearest sink.

#giantess #giantess smut #fred weasley x reader smut #fred weasley x reader #geroge weasley x reader smut #fred weasley #geroge weasley #geroge weasley x reader #geroge weasley smut #fred and george #fred weasley smut #fred and george weasley smut #harry potter smut #fred weasley lemon #weasley twin smut #weasley twins smut #weasley twins x reader

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kleptonancydrew · 3 years ago

Text

Nancy Drew and Education

So apparently the Clue Crew is full of teachers? Who knew. Well, as a former homeschooled student, current teacher, and (hopefully) future homeschooling parent/teacher I have been planning on integrating the games into lessons for a long time. Below the cut I have just a few of my many ideas (some more fleshed out than others). Feel free to use, adapt, or add your own!

SCK:

- Braille

o How blind/vision impaired people navigate the world

§ How we can make it more accessible for them

o How do braille books and printers work

- ASL

o Memorizing the alphabet and basic signs

§ Build up fluency

o How HOH/deaf people navigate the world

§ How we can make it more accessible for them

o Connections of ASL to other signed languages

§ French Sign Language versus British Sign Language

- Dangers of gas leaks

o What to do if you smell or hear gas

- Inequalities between mens and womens sporting opportunities

o See Women’s Soccer

- What are performance enhancing drugs

o What is the difference between #steroids and the steroids your doctor might prescribe

- How drug running is a gateway crime

- Why blackmailing people isn’t good

- More reasons to never move to Florida

- Why you shouldn’t go to an actual high school part one

STFD:

- Television in NYC

o Soap Operas

o How television sets work

o Role of director

o Teleprompters

o Props

o Agents

- Theatre in NY

o Broadway

§ Learn a show

o Carnegie Hall

- Dangers in the ways we obsess over celebrities

o Paparazzi

o Stalkers

o Respecting privacy

- NY taxi system

- NY regional accents

- NY as a center for immigration – salad bowl

o Ellis Island

- History of NYC

o Geography of NYC

- Typewriters

- Towers of Hanoi

- Encoding

- How to make chocolates (with or without poison)

- Read along:

o New York the Novel (Edward Rutherford)

o The Power Broker

o All of a Kind Family

MHM:

- San Francisco Gold Rush

- Earthquake and Fires in San Fran

- Golden Gate Bridge

- Angel Island

o Asian (Chinese) Immigration to the USA

- Chinese Zodiac

- Fortune telling (and why it’s not okay)

- Bed and Breakfasts

- San Francisco today

o Technology boom

o Overpriced everything

§ How this hurts established residents

§ Homelessness in San Fran

- Bandits in the American West

- Hauntings in American buildings

- How to remove and install tile

- Renovations – refurbish something

- Antiques

o Visit an antique shop

- Importance of fire safety

- How to install lighting fixtures properly

- How to fix a dumbwaiter

o How not to be a dumb waiter

- Tangrams

- What is the Victorian period

o Significance of Queen Victoria

- Read Along:

o Little Brother

o Paper Son: Lee’s Journey to America

o Angel Island Gateway to Golden Mountain

TRT:

- The French Revolution

o Marie Antoinette

o Women and the French Revolution

o Worldwide effects of the Revolution

o Historians of the French Revolution

- Writing history

o How we can focus on different events in history, how we can be sympathetic to certain people, how we can fulfill different spaces in the historical narrative, criticism of history as a field, entering history as a field

- Wisconsin Dairy industry

- Alarm systems and how they work

- Fingerprinting

- Elevator safety

- Ski lifts

o Skiing

- Vandalism

- Taking care of libraries

- Latitude and longitude

- Keeping records of good events and bad events

o Nothing you do will ever stop me from loving you

- Some people keep different sleep schedules

- Journalism

- Making translations

- Why France has different holidays – to keep the ski lodges from getting too full

FIN:

- History of theatre spaces

- Use of film at theatres

- Magicians

o Houdini

o Learn a ‘magic’ trick

- Library of Congress

- Demolition – wrecking balls

o What’s involved

- Plaster casts

- Historic register of buildings

o Visit a local historic building

- Price of concessions and movie tickets today

- Nickelodeons

- Celebrity stunts for attention from press

o Celebrity endorsements

- Jazz music

o Dancing

- Kidnapping stories

o What to do if someone tries to grab you

- Rubber vs. electricity

- Art/artists of the 20s

SSH:

- Numbering systems (particularly ones not based on 10)

- Cultures of South America

o Maya

§ Cultural understandings

§ Connections to what appears at Beech Hill

o Aztec

o Inca

- Myths of lesser civilizations because of European preconceptions

- Why do countries have consulates/embassies in other countries

- What is amnesia and other medical memory issues

- Provenance and why its important part one

- Roles and responsibilities within a museum

o Visit a museum

o How to be critical of a museum and how knowledge is presented to you

- Modern art

o Make your own

o Visit a modern art museum

- Periodic Table of Elements

- Positive and negative molds for casting

DOG:

- Prohibition

o Speakeasys

o Amendments to constitution

o Drinking age restrictions

§ Comparison of USA to European countries

o Connections to modern drug policies

- Recognizing and photographing local birds

- Dangers in the forest – ticks and other pests

- Why water sources are important

o Flint water crisis

- Visit a state park

o Importance of maintaining public land

- Alcatraz

- How to care for dogs

- Noise pollution

o Light pollution

CAR:

- History of carousels

o Visit a carousel

- Lathes

- Harmonicas

- Band organs

- Writing messages with lemon juice and other hidden inks

- How to iron

o How not to iron

- How to make a sundae

- How amusement park rides are designed

- Soldering

- What is parole

o Welcoming those who have been in prison back to society

o Problems with the American prison system

§ How it disproportionately affects minority groups

o What can be done in prison reform

o Abuses in prison

o Making mental and spiritual help and guidance more available

o Making sanitary products available

o Prison for profit hurts everybody except the prison owner

o Educational opportunities for those in prison

o More half-way help

o Juvenile sentencing reform – more out of system help

o Respecting humanity of prisoners

o Ending the death penalty

- Depression

o How to get help

o How to help others

o Dealing with loss

DDI:

- Native peoples of the Pacific Northwest

- Orcas and other whales

o Whaling industry in Northwest and Northeast

o Things whale products were used for

o Visit natural history museum with whale exhibition

- Visit an aquarium with a good reputation

o Problems with places that do not take care of their sea life – particularly large sea life like whales

- What is a chowder and how is it made

o Try or make chowder

- Crabs

o Restrictions on different types of crabs – what type is local

o Try a crab dish

- Importance of different knots

o Get some rope and learn how to tie different knots

- Know the NATO alphabet and letter flags

- Boating knowledge

o Go on a boating trip – know the port and starboard sides

- Learn how to kayak

- Try to learn how to skip rocks

- Visit a lighthouse

o Importance and histories of lighthouses

- Smuggling – what is it and why does it happen

- Shanghaiing

- Chess

SHA:

- The continuous oppression and mistreatment of Native Americans

o From Mayflower to Pocahontas to Trail of Tears to Dakota to DAPL to Reservations to food deserts to voting rights to much much more

§ How to support current Native voices and concerns

o Why Native Americans are not a costume

o “Possession” of Native American objects and land

§ Arrowheads and native jewelry

o Broad overview of regional Native American groups – using their own voices

§ Special focus on local Native American groups

· Is there a local museum/educational resource that is either Native created or known for respecting Native voices

o Current Native Americans of note (ex: politicians, activists, artists)

o While the previous focuses on Native Americans in the modern day USA – also discuss First Nations from Canada and Native Groups from more southern areas

- Why temperature and pan matters when baking (show what happens in the oven when it goes wrong)

- Magnets and how different metals react differently to magnets

- How to take care of a horse and other farm animals

o Visit a local farm

o Try horse-riding

- Dangers of rattle snakes and scorpions

- Lassos and how to use them

- Legends of outlaws in the American West

- Ghost towns

- Flower stitches when knitting/crocheting

- Petrified wood

- How to make a campfire

- Picking fruits and veggies when they are ready

- Flower language

- Read Along:

o Native American folk tales

o Motorcycles and Sweetgrass

o Gone Away Lake

o Black Beauty?

CUR:

- Where are the moors

- Different regional accents within the United Kingdom

- British foods

- Latin

o Learn fun phrases and prayers

- Ancestry and genealogy

o Map your own family tree and recognize family crests

o How adoption has historically been a binding and irrefutable concept for lineage

o Find places your family lived

o Leaving a history for your descendants

§ Write a story book for them

o British Royal Family

§ Why incest is bad

- Parrots and their intelligence

- Secret passages in old buildings

- Alchemy

o Connections to modern understandings of science

o Historical understandings of elements

- Astrological signs

- Witch trials

- Legends of lycanthropy and other monsters

- Importance of not taking other peoples medicines

- Runic alphabet

- Feeding your pets a healthy diet

- Typing practice

- How to embrace the idea that home taught students are evil geniuses

- Forges and melting points of different metals

- Carnivorous plants

- Succulents

- Constellations in different places

- Read Along:

o The Secret Garden

o The London Eye Mystery

o Beastly

CLK:

- Great Depression

o Causes and effects

o Who was hurt

o Who was not hurt

o Areas of America

§ Dust bowl

o Famous people and literature

o Homelessness and poverty

§ Bread lines

§ Soup kitchens

§ Anti-homelessness architecture

§ Connections to mental illness and veterans

§ How we can help those who do not have homes today

- Early Telephones

- Shakespeare

- History of Nancy Drew

o Mildred Wirt Benson

o Edward Stratemeyer

- Fishing – why different fish respond to different bait

- Orphanages in the early 20th century

- Gas prices and accessibility of cars through time

- How to make pie

- What is jurisdiction and what is significant about crossing state lines

- How do banks work

o Safety deposit boxes

- Identify theft

- How to use a sewing machine

o Sew an item of clothing

- Mini golf – why and what

- Mirrors and their usefulness

- Stamp collections

- Radios and call signs

o Comparison to modern internet forms

- Telegrams

- Read along:

o Shakespeare

§ Midsummer Night’s Dream

§ Others

o Pollyanna

o Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm

o The Grapes of Wrath

TRN:

- Trains

o Steam trains

o Visit a train museum

o Take a train ride (if not a normal event)

o Importance of transcontinental railway

o Trains around the USA today

o Trains around the world (TGV, bullet train)

- Abraham Lincoln

- Mark Twain

- How to make a good burger (you leave off the PB&J)

- Slugs

- Periodic Table of Elements – abbreviations

- Gemstones

- History of Mining

o England (Newcastle upon Tyne)

o American West

o Appalachia

o Company Store

o Health issues for miners

o Danger of mines

o Current issues for mining

- Dancing the Hurley Burley

- People who collect creepy dolls

o History of porcelain dolls

- Embroidery

o How to

o Patterns/symbols

- General Stores in the American West

o Sears

- How to make taffy

- Find a well maintained and beautiful tomb and research who is entombed

- Focusing light through a magnifying glass can start a fire

- Read Along:

o Murder on the Orient Express

o Mark Twain books

DAN:

- All lessons in French

- How using different ingredients and different amounts of ingredients can affect the outcome of your cookies

- Paris métro

o History

o How to read/follow a métro map

o RER

- Montmartre and other Parisian neighbourhoods

- History of Île de la France and Square de Vert Galant Parc and Pont Neuf

- WWII and the French Resistance

o Cross of Lorraine

o Vichy France

o Abuses of the French gov’t in this period

- Paris and the fashion world

- Beauty standards and the rejection of natural beauty by society

o Dangers of weight and figure standards

o You are beautiful as you are

- Catacombs of Paris

- Famous French Dishes (from this region)

o Or Bretagne since I know and like them better

- The French Café

- Moulin in France

- Tea and how hot leaf water can taste so bad but still be good for you

- Buildings of Baron Haussmann

- Paris History

- Decoders

- Importance of vitraux historically, culturally, and religiously

- Read Along:

o Little Kids

§ Madeline

§ Babar

§ Petit Ours

§ Plume

o High School

§ Hunchback of Notre Dame

§ Les Mis

§ Dale Van Kley

CRE:

- History of Hawai’i and her native people

o How the USA screwed them over and continues to do so

§ Land colonizing today

o Listen to voices from Native Peoples

- Pearl Harbor

o USS Arizona

- Native myths and legends

- Local flora and fauna

- Surfing

- How to make bead necklaces

- Snorkeling

- Entomology

o Find some local bugs and identify and observe them

- Horticulture

o See if you can graft something

o Watch a carnation placed in water with food dye

o Regrow a fruit or veggie from the leftovers

- Go looking for seashells – see how many complete shells you can find

- Be aware of pesticides and the dangers they offer

o Dangers of organic food too

- Make something with pineapple in it

- Fishing – different kinds of native fish

- Volcanos

- Hula

ICE:

- Wolf sanctuaries – respecting wildlife and their place in the wild and not the domestic

o What to do if you see a wolf in the real world

- Fur trapping in Canada history

- Regions and Capitols of Canada

o Visit Canada?

- How the Canadian government works

- Use of French language in Canada

o Unique features of Canadian French

- Ice fishing

- How to cook omelets, salmon, etc.

o How to not add paprika cause like ew

- Fossils

- Radiation

o Marie Curie

- How to be a good maid

- Snowballs/ice balls

- Ice skating

- Winter weather safety

- Avalanches

- Saunas

- Birthmarks

- Fax machines

- How to not lie about bird watching

- Frozen water safety

- Modern offenses against First Nations by Canadian Government

CRY:

- Culture of the Arawak and Caraïbe

o Voodoo

- Mardi Gras in New Orleans

- Hurricane Katrina and aftermath

- French Influence

- Eyes and their parts and functions

- Teeth and their parts and functions

- Alligators in the Southern USA and how they are dangerous pests

- Graveyards/cemeteries and how to be comfortable in them

o Modern burial practices

o Why are they above ground in Louisiana?

o Places where they are running out of space for the dead

o Historic violations of final resting places

- Ventriloquism

- Lizards and how to care for them

- Rube Goldberg machines

- Curio shops

- Crystal Skulls

VEN:

- International crime

- Organized crime

- Scopa

- Italian basics

o Learn an Italian aria

- Italian food

o Not just spaghetti

- History of Venice

o Current issues in Venice

- Carrier pigeons

- Micro-dots

- “Observing the architecture”

- Try to make gelato (or just get gelato, either way you get gelato)

- Disguising yourself – put on an outfit and try to get me to not recognize you

- Picking locks

- Secret codes

- Solfege

o With hand signs

o Learn a song in solfege

- Carnivale

- Learn how the sausage gets made

o How to deal with food poisoning

- How to secure your living space against burglars

o Glass breaks, motion sensors, keypads, magnets, and more

- Read Along:

o Heist Society

o The Prince

o Merchant of Venice

HAU:

- Irish lessons (as much of this in Irish as possible)

o Why the Irish language is important

- Geography of Ireland

o Provinces and counties

- Irish names

- Why Ireland has disliked and should dislike the UK

o Historically

o Famine

§ Emmigration

o Easter Rising

o Troubles

o Present-Day

- Importance of alcohol in Ireland

o Uisce beatha

o Guinness

§ Guinness world records

- Irish music

o Irish instruments

o Learn some Rebel songs

- Ogham runes

- Irish foods

o Something with lamb, who cares what

- Don’t use friends for land development

- Bogs

- Chemical Reactions

- Rockets

- Inventions and secrecy during WWII

- Religion in Ireland

o Pagan traditions

o Christianity

o Catholic/Protestant tensions

- Irish wedding traditions

- How printing presses work

- Irish castles

- Sheep sheering/raising sheep

- Irish legends

o Fae

o Leprechauns

- Don’t drive and talk on the phone

RAN:

- Why blackface is problematic? (the fact that this needs to be said is problematic in and of itself)

- Scuba diving

- Sailing

- Bermuda Triangle

- Bats

- Primates and their intelligence

o Problems with animal research

o Koko

o Jane Goodall

- Island resort culture

- Metal detectors

- Pirates

o And the Caribbean

o Their abuses

o Different kinds

o Modern day pirates

- How do walkie-talkies work

- US mistreatment of island territories

- Read Along:

o Bloody Jack (Meyer)

WAC:

- Edgar Allan Poe

o Stories

o Baltimore

- Piano

- Victorian Dining traditions

o How to set a place for fancy dining

o How to fold napkins

o Table manners

o How to serve someone at a fancy dinner

o How courses might work

o How to use your silverware

- Why you shouldn’t go to an actual high school part two

o Just fyi – that’s not how uniforms work

§ Have a school inspired dress code for a week

- Bullying and why you absolutely will not be a bully

o How to respond to bullying

o Importance of talking to adults and counseling

- Logic puzzles

- Research the founding of a local school

- Stringed Instruments

- Plagiarism

o Turnitin

- Making sandwiches – like a good deli style sandwich

- Photography scavenger hunt – make a digital (or physical) yearbook

- Squirrels

- Orthographic projection

- DNA/RNA

- Saving every major project on three different thumb drives

- Getting along with roommates

- States and Capitals

o Countries and capitals of the world

TOT:

- Tornados

o Technology used to observe tornados

- Meteorology

- Prairie dogs

- Life on the great plains

- Great Plains Native Americans

- Small towns in the Midwest honestly be like that

- Defensive driving

- Make a disaster kit

- Know what to do in various natural emergency situations

o What is the local alert protocol

o What do local authorities recommend

- How to maintain and fix a car

- How to fix a broken device

- What is tenure

- How to budget

o Go to the grocery store on a strict budget (however much you come in under budget is your candy budget)

- Read Along:

o Little House

SAW:

- Basic Japanese phrases

o Learn to count

o Writing in Japanese

- Sudoku, nonograms, renograms

- Japanese ghost legends

- Japanese culture

o Tourism

§ Ryokans

o Space – everything small

o Politeness/formalities

o Hot springs/baths

o Tatami and paper walls

- Japanese cultural dress

o Kimonos

o Lolita? Fashion

- Japanese names

o Last name first

o How to address others in Japan

- Martial Arts

o Ninjutsu

§ Traditional tools

- Japanese tea ceremony

- Schools in Japan

- Teaching English as a foreign language

- Japanese subway/train system

- Pachinko and Japanese gaming

- Japanese vending machines

- Robotic animals

- Bento

- Japanese foods

- Origami

- How to fake a haunting

CAP:

- Basic German phrases

o How to make a German word

o Connections of German to English

- German food favourites

o Especially cakes

- Storytelling as a cultural entity

o How memory has worked differently in different times

- Glass blowing

- How castles provided for the local community

- Bavaria in Germany

o Cultural dress

- Glockenspiel

- How to make board games

- Monster stories of central Europe

- How to monitor security camera remotely

- Read Along:

o Heidi

ASH:

- Arson

o Watching how different accelerants burn a piece of paper

- All politicians are at least somewhat self-serving

o But write a letter to a local politician anyway

§ Different ways to contact elected officials, and why some don’t work

- How to make ice cream

- How a police investigation works

o Problems with police departments around the world – specifically USA

o Ways that police work unfairly targets minorities

§ If Nancy is innocent how many others are

- How to use matches and lighters safely

- Why you should not return to the scene of a crime – particularly a fire

- Making sure smoke detectors work properly and the system is connected

o We might not go to school but fire drills are still important

- What is a mass spectrometer

- Who to call if you’ve been arrested

- What to do if you get pulled over

- How the media can skew the truth and make their own narratives

- Sound mixing

- Be careful with what you say/post/record

o Keep receipts and clarify when possible

TMB:

- What not to do at an archaeological site

- Ancient Egyptian History

o Pantheon, notable figures, relevant events

o Pyramids, sphinx

o Pharaohs

- Modern Egypt

o Arabic alphabet

- History of archaeological digs in Egypt

o Why they’ve been problematic

- Dangers of the tombs

- Mummys

o How they are put together

- Tomb raiders

- Importance of water in the desert

- How to piece together a broken artifact

- How to gently brush off an artifact

- There is no such thing as a dictionary for ancient Egyptian

- Aliens did not build the pyramids

- Senet

- Desert life safety

- How mirrors can be used to light a room

- Read Along

o Rick Riordan

DED:

- Nikola Tesla

o All his fun stuff

o Tesla Coils

- 3-D printing

- Gummy fingerprints

- Faraday Cage

- Basic electric concepts

o How to build a circuit board

- Chemical safety

- How a lab might work

- Valuing different skills within academia

- Ultraviolet light

- How motorcycles work

- Freelance photography

- How to use academic databases

GTH:

- Slavery in the United States

o Origins

o ‘End’

o Civil War

o The connection to “southern culture”

o Continued abuses of Black people in America

§ Importance of recognizing Black voices and what they are saying

§ Listening even when it’s uncomfortable

§ Checking privilege when you have it

o Jim Crow Laws

- Plantations

- Gone With the Wind

o The good and the bad

- Civil War spies – female

- Carbon monoxide poisoning

- Burned out houses are not a safe space

- Do not go digging through people’s coffins – rest in PEACE

- Understanding that your family can be flawed

- If you don’t want to get married, if you’re not happy in a relationship, end it

- When a member of your family is sick you take care of them

- Make a will, just in case your cousin kills you

- Bachelor and bachelorette parties should feature activities that everyone is comfortable with

- Read Along:

o My Last Skirt: The Story of Jennie Hodgers, Union Soldier

SPY:

- Scotland and their identity

o Celtic Nations

o Independent Scotland

o Call a Scottish person

- Unicorns and other mythical creatures in Scotland

- Scottish food

o The appetizing parts

- History of spies

- Biowarfare

o Code Orange

o Other teenage stories dealing with anthrax

o Current events and concerns

o Historical biowarfare (smallpox blankets)

- Ziplining

- Archery

- How to bug someone

- Tartans and plaids

o Kilts

- Augmented Reality Glasses

- Record players

- How to reset a circuit breaker

- Read Along:

o Gallagher Girls

o Code Orange

o Little House (Martha)

o Little Brother (Doctorow)

MED:

- Don’t meet your heroes

- New Zealand

o Maori culture

- Survivor style game shows and realism

- I’m not saying Aliens can’t exist, I’m saying they def aren’t involved here

- Kayaking

- Submarines and what they can do

- Turtles

- Earthquakes

- Be careful with rope bridges

LIE:

- Provenance and why it’s important part two

- Greek art and how it was originally painted vibrantly

o Abuses of Greek art through the ages

- The British Museum and the issues with that

- Greek pantheon

o Legends and notable figures

o Religious traditions

- Iliad and Odyssey

- Art forgery

- How to fire clay pots and pottery

- Memorizing lines for a play

o Staging for a play

o Role of a director

- Theatre

o Lights

o Curtains

o Fly system

o Sound

- Greek alphabet

- Historical importance of the Greek language and culture

o Alexander the Great and Hellenization

- Olympics

o Historic and modern

- Greece and the European Union

- Make something with pomegranates

- Read Along:

o Iliad

o Odyssey

o The Thief

o Percy Jackson

SEA:

- Iceland

o Culture

§ Naming traditions

o Language

o Music

o Food

- Shipbuilding

o Historic and modern ships

- Ice caving

- Northern Lights

- Tides

- Snowmobiling

- Poetry

- What is xenophobia

MID:

- Some games just shouldn’t be made

- American witch trials

o What actually went down

o Misconceptions

- Treating people with albinism as real people

- Arson is bad

- Herbal remedies and how they can interfere with modern medicine

- Witchcraft and how not to

- Salem MA

- Ignorance promotes fear and hatred so we do our best to learn about others

#Nancy Drew Games #Clue Crew #Teaching #Education #Nancy Drew

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the-blind-geisha · 3 years ago

Note

what do you think would happen if irl mc found out that demiurge was killing for her and he expects her to be horrified but she’s exactly flattered and horny? 2 twisted beans

He was a farmer. What else was new? He went out of his way to say he slaughtered the animals that were marked to be sold at market as meat and poultry. You were well aware the man was good at butchering.

However, you assumed that he was only good at killing animals and being merciful about it... not humans.

You were constantly picked on and ridiculed to the point you were nearly becoming agoraphoic. Hell, even just going to his house was a bit of a scary thing. You felt reprieve when you were at his farm, but getting there could still be a bit scary when someone would try to harass you or otherwise when walking there.

But he took care of that. All of it. Without you even knowing.

Any man that dared make a snide remark and you commented about it? Demiurge found them, trapped them in his farm and tortured them to make them regret their actions. He was doing this for the enjoyment of it, yes, but also to make you happy. He was making you happy, wasn't he?

However, he never knew how you would feel if you found out. So, he hid a lot of this in his basement or in a shack just near the woods he had crafted. But you found it, much to his surprise, when he was cutting apart a man who groped you in public.

“Ah, y/n,” he spoke in concern at what you had just witnessed as he sliced the man's arm off and pushed it into a bucket that was stained with blood. “I wasn't expecting you to be here...!”

You recognized the man on the table, making you curious why Demiurge would do such a thing. “He's...”

“The man who hurt you, yes,” Demiurge concluded. “He had outlived his usefulness here, and I wasn't going to let him wander about any longer.” He moved quickly over towards you, running his fingers through your hair as if to pet you. “I was doing this for you, y/n, as you deserve better.”

“For me...?” It was hard to imagine. Nobody did anything for you. If they did, it was more an act to get you on your way. Never was it out of kindness or love. It made your heart quicken and you lost the energy to even breath as it was weirdly romantic. “You would protect me from such things?”

“Always,” he whispered close to your ear, hoping to sway the thoughts rushing through your mind into something regarding romance.

“This is gross of me, maybe, but... I almost want to ask you to fuck me on that blooded table,” you said without hesitation.

“Mm?” Demiurge's eyes opened wide at the remark, wondering if he heard that right or he hallucinated it. He cautiously ran the back end of the butcher blade against his gloved finger. “Well, it's not exactly sanitary but... if you wished to.” He leaned closer to your neck, biting down on your exposed flesh with a teasing yet dominate mark. “I'd be more than happy to find a way.”

#don't hurt his lovely #slaughter #murder #demiurge #demiurge/mc #demiurge/reader #modern day au #modern!demiurge #overlord #demiurge snippet #mod answers #anon #but really they would fuck on the table #she'd push the body to the floor

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wellhellotragic · 4 years ago

Text

Hiraeth

Summary: Emma’s life had always been carefully curated for her as the daughter of a Navy Admiral. To follow in her mothers footsteps: meet and marry a suitable husband and be the best wife possible. But what she hadn’t expected was for her father to be reassigned halfway around the world to Egypt, and she certainly had never expected to meet and fall in love with a man so opposed to everything her father stood for...

A/N: Well, @shireness-says, I guess it’s finally time to reveal myself. Hope having me as your @cssecretsanta2020 isn’t too disappointing. I think I managed to get 90% of your wish list tucked into this little monster. I hope you have the most wonderful of Christmases this year!

Hiraeth: A homesickness for a home you can't return to, or that never was. Grief for a loss, something you can never have again.

_____________________________________________________________

She hears a crackling noise coming from the next room, the oversized fireplace recently stoked with with wood, and even in its muffled state through the doorway, it brings a calmness to the home. Winters in London have always been chilly, but this one is by far the most brutal that Emma can remember and the snow piling up outside has brought transportation to a halt as the cobblestone roads give no grip to passing carriages. She briefly considers taking a few sips of the bottle of brandy she has hidden in the back of the cupboard to warm her, but considering the small child playing with her doll in the great room, Emma decides against, choosing to boil some water instead.

It’s strange, being in the house, just the two of them after all this time. Stranger yet celebrating a family holiday without the entire family, but such is life. She will allow herself to cry tonight once the child is safely tucked into her bed with a story told. She will allow herself to grieve for the man not sleeping at her side and the chill that’s taken hold of his side of the mattress. For the quietness of the home, but for now, she’s going to smile and tell her daughter a tale of Father Christmas.

The kettle begins to whistle, taking Emma by surprise, having lost track of the time in her wistfulness. Quickly she composes herself and sets about mixing up two cups of cocoa, complete with whipped cream and a generous dusting of cinnamon on top for good measure. Always with the cinnamon.

She places both cups on a small wooden tray, adding in some biscuits, before taking the tray into the living room. There, she finds the small girl playing a game of imaginary flight. The girl has named the doll Wendy, based on some fairytale she’d been told at school. One retold to her by a classmate whose father spun such tales for a living.

“Fly Wendy, you must believe. You simply must!”

“What must she believe, my Poppet?” Emma can’t help but chuckle at the earnestness of her daughter’s words.

“Oh, it’s quite simple really. She has to believe in the magic for it to work so she can fly.”

“Ah, well maybe she just needs some cocoa to help her outlook. What do you say?”

The young girl nearly tossed her doll in the air in her haste to run to the table where her mother has set the tray. Tiny fingers move at nearly impossible speed and it’s all Emma can do to prevent her from burning her mouth again.

“Careful, it’s still warm, you must take care to blow on it, sweetheart.”

The little girl rolls her eyes before nearly sinking her face into the whip cream, catching a dollop on her nose as she blows. Giggles fill the room and Emma’s heart begins to warm just a bit.

“Mummy, Theo told me that cinnamon on cocoa was wrong. That it doesn’t belong.”

“And what did you say in return?”

“Well, I told him that he was silly of course.”

Emma laughed. Her daughter has inherited so much of her father in physical appearance, but tucked away inside the girl, Emma often finds her own spirit.

“Have I ever told you the story of how I came to use cinnamon on my cocoa?”

The little girl shakes her head as she takes a sip of her now cooled drink.

“Well, then, where should I begin?” Emma smiles wistfully before continuing. “Once upon a time…”

_____________________________________

1881 Port of Alexandria, Egypt

She’d been sick since the day they’d left London, never having experienced the open waters before. She’d been on boats a handful of times as a child with her father, yet they’d never had the occasion to leave their position in the berth and weeks at sea had taken their toll. Emma, like a handful of others unaccustomed to the waves, had taken ill, turning nearly green in the face. Most of the men aboard had served in her Majesty's Navy for years, making such simple work of setting about the ship with ease. Emma envied them that, having spent nearly every day in her room sick over a bucket.

Her only solace was the blaring horn of her father’s ship alerting them that they’d finally arrived at their destination. Leaving London hadn't been easy, saying goodbye to so many of her friends. To the only home she’d ever lived in. Her mother told her to think of it as an adventure, reminding her constantly that it wasn’t a house that made a home. It was family. But Emma and her mother had experienced very different upbrings.

And the idea of moving to Egypt had been off putting. She’d been warned of the heat and the impoverished people. The less than ideal sanitary situation had also been worrisome. It was only at the insistence of her father and that Emma was able to avoid hesitation all together.

But that was then, before her family drug her nearly kicking and screaming halfway across the world to an entirely different continent. She didn’t know much about Egypt other than the English had recently begun to colonise it to ensure the protection of monetary interest. She knew even lesser still about Alexandria. An oasis of sorts her father had said, situated between the Nile and the new Suez Canal, producing some of the most fertile land in the country, which was also the very reason they were there. To protect more than the land the Queen now laid claim to, but to ensure safe passage for the ships returning to England from India.

“Emma, sweetheart, are you coming?”

Emma looked up to find her mother’s head poking in through the doorway, cheerful as always. “We really mustn’t dotile, it wouldn’t make for a good first impression.”

“Of course, we couldn’t possibly be late,” she mocked as she rolled her eyes, trying to find a place to stow her recently used bucket. Heaven forbid they ever step one toe out of line. It wasn’t that she didn’t understand the importance of her father’s role as a Rear-Admiral and how important it was to keep up the image of the perfect family, but for Emma, it meant everything had to be just so. No creases in her dresses, no new fashions that were considered too provocative as they may have shown the slightest hint of skin around the reduced neckline. It also meant that every moment of her day must have been accounted for.

It wasn’t as if she had a rebellious streak, but she longed to have any semblance of autonomy in her own life. But that wasn’t the life she was destined for. Instead, she was expected to find a suitable husband of good social standing and wealth, and to bear his children. To provide for him in any way necessary and to see only to his happiness. So many of her friends had been all too eager to accept marriage proposals from men that ill fitted their personalities just for the sake of not being labeled a spinster.

At nearly twenty one, Emma had already pushed the boundaries, having recently turned down a marriage proposal from the son of the Admiral of the Fleet, a reason she strongly believed had led to the sudden reassignment of her father. Neal’s father had always stuck her as a horribly controlling man, a trait that she saw more and more in Neal as their courtship progressed.

“Emma, really, I must insist that you hurry.”

“Yes, mother.”

Emma rose from her seat and placed her bucket on the floor at the foot of her bed before putting herself to rights. She checked her hair in the small mirror hung on the wall opposite her luggage, trying her best not to look as bad as she felt.

The top deck of the ship was beaming with life. People milled about everywhere, barking orders to some, saluting others. It was the most organized brand of chaos Emma had ever laid eyes on. She followed her mother, taking caution not to step in anyone’s way as they made their way to the gangplank.

It was there that she caught her first sight of her new home. It was breathtaking, not at all what she’d expected. The sky above the city was the bluest she’d ever experienced, like the ocean itself had been reflected into the heavens, and the buildings lining the seashore erupted in a mountain of golden sandcastles.

She’d barely had time to take it in before her mother began tugging on her elbow, a silent signal to move faster. Once on land again, Emma and her mother were greeted by the women’s auxiliary group. There were a handful of other officers that had brought families with them to their new duty station, and as was customary, a greeting party had come to meet the newest arrivals.

The women, some as young as Emma swooned and cooed over her mother. It wasn’t every day that the wife of such a high ranking official appeared, and the women clearly wanted to make a positive first impression, cementing their good standings as well as their husband’s in the mind of her mother. Much of the privilege afforded to soldiers and their families depended on rank, but social status had long been its own form of exchangeable collateral.

They all exchanged pleasantries as the woman walked them to the nearby base, a small wall and barbed wire barricade the only thing separating them from what some of the women had referred to as natives. Emma tried not to show her disgust at the term, but it was difficult when they seemed so unapologetic for the slur. Especially when they spoke of the uprising and how some of them needed to be put down like dogs.

Emma had seen her fair share of aristocrat snobbery before, but nothing quite so brazen. If not for the young brunette ambeling beside her, rolling her eyes as the women spoke, Emma certainly would have lost her sanity.

Eventually the gaggle of women made it to the house that Emma would call home. It wasn’t nearly as fancy as what she’d been accustomed to in London. There weren’t any of the ornate embellishments on the walls, no wood carvings, not even any color really. By some miracle though, the house did have plumbing, which had been one of Emma’s greatest worries. Some of her friends had warned her that she would be forced to use outhouses and public bathes.

The home itself was bleak, but her mother took it in stride, finding whatever she could to be excited about, and told the women that she would make her own in no time. Soon, she’d even managed to command the kitchen enough to make tea for all of the ladies who’d been kind enough to stock the house with groceries for the newcomers. They sat around the small table in the living room and discussed what it was like living in Alexandria, gossiping about one of the wives who hadn’t been able to make it. At one point, the conversation had shifted back to the natives, a warning not to venture into the city without a male escort to prevent savagery. Emma felt the walls closing in as the conversation continued. This small base made of a few homes and barracks had become a small prison. All of her dreams crushed.

As the women rose and exchanged parting words, Emma moved to take her leave but felt someone grab her wrist, tugging her outside and around the corner of the house. The girl continued to pull her farther and farther away from any other people.

Not sure what was happening, Emma braced herself to dig her heels into the ground, not wishing to move another inch.

“Where are you trying to take me,” she demanded.

It was the same brunette from earlier, and with a wolfish grin she shrugged.

“To the city of course.”

_____________________________________

She wasn’t quite sure what had possessed her to follow the young woman she now knew as Ruby. Perhaps it was a rebellion from all of the rules that had been forced upon her in such a limited amount of time. Perhaps it was sheer curiosity, but she went, almost eagerly.

Emma listened as Ruby told her about all of the places as they passed them and the people, even watching Ruby greet a few of them as friends. It was such a different picture from the one the women on base had painted. Half of her had been expecting men hidden under robes and veils to jump out and grab her, but the men and women that they came across all seemed friendly enough.

Soon, she found herself entering a brasserie. Ruby didn’t miss a beat in rushing to a table with a couple already sat across from each other. With no prompting whatsoever, Ruby took the spot next to the gentleman, edging him further against the wall. She motioned for Emma to sit as well. Carefully, she slid onto the bench next to the other woman, making sure not to crowd her.

It wasn’t until she’d become fully situated that she’d really been able to take stock of the people sitting with her. The woman to her right was beautiful in her own right. Brown hair tied at her nape, flowing over her shoulder in curls. It was odd for Emma to see a woman wish such relaxed standards and so carefree. In old London society, it was an unspoken rule that women wore their hair up in fanciful twists.

But as surprising as the woman’s demeanor was, it was truly the gentleman that had caught her attention. A slight scruff speckled the entire lower half of his face, and his cheeks had a sunkissed glow about them. But his eyes, they sparkled a deep blue, and all thoughts she’d had about the Egyptian sky upon her arrival had been put to shame by him.

“Emma, I’d like you to meet my friend Belle, and her pet, Killian. Everyone, this is Emma. She’s just arrived today and I’m trying to dispel the lies she’s heard of the city thus far.”

Killian nodded in her direction, but remained silent. Belle on the other hand had been eager to speak, having originally been born in France, but she’d lived in London until only a few years prior. She asked all sorts of questions about the museums and libraries, and life in general. Emma filled her in on all of the newness of what she’d missed since leaving. Before she knew it, a table full of food had appeared, enough to feed a small army.

She’d been reluctant to eat any, not yet having currency to pay for her share, but Ruby insisted, telling her it was on Killian. He barked out a laugh, but assured her that lunch was on him as a welcome gift. The four of them ate and spoke. Or more aptly, Ruby and Belle did most of the speaking, which was fine by Emma. She’d learned so much about Alexandria.

As it turned out, Ruby was the daughter of another office stationed at the base, but Belle had no affiliation with the Navy. She’d simply come to Egypt for the adventure of it all. She was actually on a small team searching for the lost library of Alexandria. She told Emma how many of the explorers that had come to the country had done so for the glory and treasure. Most of them were in Cairo, exploring pyramids and digging in the middle of nowhere hoping for the best. She on the other hand was intrigued by the library, her treasure was the lost books. The knowledge that had slipped away.

Eventually, lunch came to an end, their bellies all well and full, and Killian informed them that he’d stayed as long as possible, but that he needed to depart. Emma wasn’t sure why - he’d barely spoken, and she’d no knowledge of anything about it - but there was a small twinge of sadness at his leaving.

As they excited the brasserie, she watched as he turned and gave both Ruby and Belle hugs before handing Belle a small satchel. Emma had been taken back. In her previous social graces, a man and women were never to embrace unless they were married, and even then, they were to maintain a certain amount of propriety in public. But there, amongst a city of strangers, they seemed to give it no thought.

She was taken back yet again when Killian grabbed her hand, brushing the slightest of kisses against her knuckles. She felt her breath quicken and her heart begin to pound within her chest and she worried that the others might hear it.

“My lady.”

And then, before Emma could catch the breath that had left her body, he walked away. She tried not to watch him as he left, but her eyes had affixed to him, and there was no prying her sight from him until he’d turned into an alleyway. A gleeful squeal from Belle as she peaked inside the satchel and pulled out a worn book was the only thing that finally allowed Emma to focus her attention elsewhere.

“Hook always brings her a new rare book when he returns to the city, and everytime she loses her mind as if it were not to be expected from him.”

“Hook, is that Mr. Killian’s last name.”

Ruby snorted.

“Mister Killian? We’ve really got our work cut out for us with this one.”

Belle shushed Ruby, only giving the smallest of snickers.

“To answer your question, no. His last name is Jones. Hook was a moniker given to him back in his navy days. He was always very prim and proper of course, but if the occasion called for it, he had a mean left hook.”

Emma nodded in understanding, trying to reconcile the image of a clean cut soldier with the man she’d just met.

“As as far as Ruby is concerned, the best part of living in Alexandria is the freedom to not abide by strict formalities.”

“Exactly, you needn’t be so formal here. There’s no Mister Killian or Mister Jones. No one here is going to rat you out for being human, Emma.”

“I-”

“No. You’re going to have enough thrust upon you on post, so in the rare moments you have for yourself like this, take advantage.”

Emma understood Ruby’s intentions, but she’d let her guard down once before and it had led to her father being exiled from his position. She couldn’t risk letting him down again. Instead, she nodded and did her best to change the subject.

After some time, Emma and Ruby returned to the base, parting ways near each of their homes. Ruby lived with her father and grandmother on the opposite end of the street. The girls made plans to meet up later in the week once Emma had her footing under her.

That evening, her parents discussed their days. Her father had his work cut out for him. Not only was he tasked with maintaining order in the city of Alexandria, but he’d just been informed that there had been a ship in the Medditeranian Sea that had been terrorizing cargo ships departing the Suez canal on their way home to London. He told them that the Royal Navy had searched exhaustively for the ship, but hadn’t had any luck and that they suspected that one of the neighboring countries was helping to provide a safe haven for the pillagers. They were ghosts.

Emma went to bed not long after, exhausted from all of the events of the day. Her mind couldn’t help but replaying everything over and over again in her mind. She’d managed to make new friends sooner than expected, and she genuinely enjoyed her time with Ruby and Belle. They were both so different from her social circle in London, more free and uninhibited. Something she’d always wished she could be but nothing she could have herself, given her station. The other member of her group had been more of an enigma, so quiet and mindful. She had to admit to herself, he was very handsome, and if not for his obvious relationship with Belle, she may have even allowed herself to dwell on his blue eyes and raven black hair. But he was already in a courtship, and she would do well to think of other things.

If only her dreams had understood propriety.

_____________________________________

The following few weeks were packed full of events and social soirees. Her mother wasted no time jumping into her role as a mother hen to the entire base, organizing tea parties, book clubs, even planning a winter ball for all of the soldiers. The weather in Alexandria was a far cry from the snowy streets of England but her mother made due, and also made use of nearly all of Emma’s free time.

She’d seen Ruby nearly daily, allowing their bond to grow, but the two women had only been able to sneak off once in the four weeks that Emma had lived in Egypt to meet Belle. The women had shared a more traditional meal in a British Pub that time. Emma had learned that the British people who lived in the center of the city had begun transforming the buildings, erecting more Victorian style facades with not one, but two pubs offering traditional menus and ales for the homesick. It was a remarkable find, and Emma was grateful for any semblance of her life before, but a small part of her couldn’t help but feel guilty, as if her people were ravanging the land, forcing their ways on others.

Even Belle had noticed the lack of Egyption patrons, and had warned the girls that there had been gossip of groups speaking out against the British presence in Alexandria. Nothing had come of it, but she warned the girls to be cautious and never to explore the city alone. For her part, Belle had taken a guide, hired by her employer for her protection. It also helped that Belle spoke and read the language, making her less helpless.

The days turned to months, and every few weeks the girls were able to sneak away for lunches at the same Brasserie as their first meeting. Sometimes it was just the three of them and they would discuss Belle’s research or Ruby’s grandmother who lived with her and her father. They spoke of news from England. Sometimes Killian was there as well, regaling them all with stories that Emma often believed were complete fiction. She learned that he captained a ship that transported cargo, weeks of sailing the Suez Canal being what kept him away for such long stretches of time.

It was during hose visits with Killian present that Emma experienced some of the most amazing meals she’d ever eaten. The chicken curry with black cardamom had been particularly flavorful and the Mahlab bread had been perfect, but for Emma the Morracan saffron chicken had been her absolute favorite. The four of them became very close, but Emma still knew little about Killian, aside from the fact that he’d grown up in Yorkshire and sailed. The curiosity of it all ate away at ther, but it would have been improper for her to inquire into his life in such a way.

Instead, the small group continued to meet when they could, exchanging mostly pleasant conversation, with Emma occasionally venting her frustration of having to listen to her mother speak of some of the more eligible young naval officers with the sultity of Nelson's Column in Trafalgar Square. She also spoke of her excitement over the Winter Ball and how it would be nice to have a formal dance once more with some of the young soldiers.

It wasn’t until nearly six months after Emma’s arrival that she learned that Killian and Belle were not in fact courting. The four of them met for a late lunch, eating their meal and catching up, and just as their plates were cleared, four mugs appeared, preordered by Killian before any of the rest of them had arrived. Killian had asked them all to keep an open mind, so Emma closed her eyes as she took her first sip, trying to focus on the taste, letting just the tiniest of moans escape her lips as the flavor exposed itself. It was sweeter than she’d remembered, but there was something else, something that gave it a small bite.

“Killian, this is delicious! What is it?”

Emma looked up from her mug to see a slight blush spread across his cheeks as he toyed with a spot behind his ear.

It’s cocoa, made from camel’s milk, with a sprinkling of cinnamon.

“Cinnamon?”

Emma wasn’t of simple mindedness. She’d seen the prices of many of the spices at the local markets, and while not as exotic as saffron or cardamom, cinnamon was still beyond the price she was willing to part with. While Killian never baulked at the price of their meals, nor did he seem to mind in the slightest the idea of paying for all of them, Emma often felt that she’d taken advantage of his kindness and polite manors, and the cinnamon cocoa that she savored did little to ease her guilt.

It wasn’t until after they all parted, all with hugs and Emma yet again with a kiss to her hand from Killian, that she learned of the true relationship between Belle and Killian. That they were merely friends, that they had been for years. Ruby teased Emma at her naivety, explaining that Killian had never treated them to such alluring meals before, not until he met Emma. That many of the dishes they consumed weren’t even on the menu but that Killian had brought the spices with him and bribed the staff to use them for the table.

Ruby also teased Emma for the way she sometimes looked at Killian, the yearning glances.

For her part, Emma assured Ruby that there was no such thing, embarrassed that she been caught mooning over a man she’d thought taken until only moments before. Instead, Emma changed the topic entirely, asking Ruby how the Christmas dinner her Grandmother was planning was coming along.

The next two weeks passed in a blur as final preparations for the Winter Ball took place. All of the women pitched in making sure every decoration was placed in just the right spot, and that every possible detail had been seen to. Even though the base was small, and word of mouth would have been sufficient, Emma’s mother saw to it that each person had received a personalized invitation.

Her mother had chosen silver and blue for the colors, to accentuate the uniforms worn by the gentlemen. She’d even ordered new dresses from England. Silver for herself to coordinate with Emma’s father, and a long sleeved cream gown for Emma, with ornate lace embellishments. Emma had insisted that it was too much, but Mary Margaret had been adamant that Emma put her finest foot forward - an obvious insinuation that it was time for Emma to begin a courtship less she waste away as a spinster in her old age.

The ball itself was magnificent. The meal was divine, dripping with decadent sauces that reminded her of the nicer restaurants she’d been privileged enough to dine at before their move to Egypt. The desert was scrumptious as well, but as everyone spoke of how lovely the meal was, Emma couldn’t help but glance at the center table centerpieces. Silver and blue christmas baubles had been placed in glass vases. Most were uniform in shape and size, but there was one small bauble out of place among them, lighter in color. The blue of a certain pair of eyes she’d been dreaming of more and more lately.

She’d been so engrossed in her thoughts of the man who��s eyes had captivated her over so many other meals, that she’d completely missed the music begin to play, as well as the young petty officer at her side. It was only the clearing of her mother’s throat that brought her back enough to realize that he was there with his hand stretched out to her, asking for her own hand for a dance.

Emma acquiesced, letting him lead her to the dance floor. There, they did their best to move in synchronicity, but Emma was rusty, and the poor petty officer had been born with two left feet. Emma had been grateful as the music came to an end and a new song began. Never had she been so grateful for social norms, the same one that prevented her from dancing with the same gentleman twice without being in a courtship. Not that it had really been much of a blessing. Each partner had his own quirks. Some moved too quickly, others too slow. One poor gentleman had clearly been taught by his friends, and had inadvertently learned the footwork meant for her. She did her best not to embarrass him or to bring attention to it. But after eight partners, she had become tired, and her feet ached.

Ruby seemed much more excited though, telling Emma not to seem so glum. She was just in the middle of explaining her reluctance to dance anymore, when she heard a man interrupt from behind her.

“Perhaps you just need a partner who knows what he’s doing.”

Emma turned, recognizing the voice but not being able to rectify what she saw before her. There, in a pristine Lieutenant’s uniform, stood Killian Jones, clean shaven and just as proper as any man in the room.

“How- How are you here?”

Killian chuckled and held his hand out for Emma, which she eagerly took as he guided her back into the center of the dance floor.

“I actually used to be stationed at this very post. It’s not exactly a fortress as I’m sure you know.”

“But, why are you here? I only mean that if you've left this post, then why would you come to a ball like this?”

“I’d never pass up a change to dance with a beautiful lady.”

There was such earnestness in his eyes and Emma couldn’t help but blush and look away, unsure of what to say herself. Perhaps Ruby had been correct in her assessment of Killian’s affections for her. They didn’t speak beyond that, but when the song came to an end, Killian made no move to relinquish her hand, and she made no effort to deny him. The next song began soon after and they continued to float across the dance floor to a waltz.

After the third song, Killian finally released Emma, knowing all too well how quickly gossip could spread in such small quarters. Together, they exited the dance floor and moved to gather some refreshments, but before they could make it to the table set for drinks, Emma came face to face with her father.

By any account her father looked rather austere as he took in the form of the man behind her.

“Emma, won’t you introduce me to your friend?”

Emma paused, not sure how to introduce Killian. It wasn’t as if he was meant to be there, or if he was even still in the navy - something she had questions about but would save for a later time - and didn’t know how many of the young naval men her father knew by name.

“Lieutenant Killian Jones, Sir. From the HMS Condor.”

Emma watched as her father’s features relaxed a bit.

“So you sail under Admiral Seymore then?”

“Lore Beresford actually. Admiral Seymore commands the HMS Invincible now.”

If it had been a test, Killian had surely passed given her father’s smile and invitation to sit at their table. David asked Killian all sorts of questions regarding his position and role aboard the Condor, and had Emma not been so enraptured by the ease at which Killian answered her father’s questions, she likely would have been bored of the conversation. The two men discussed Naval related items for a bit before the conversation shifted.

“So, Jones, as a man who’s recently sailed in the Mediterranean, what can you tell me of the rogue ship that’s terrorizing the cargo vessels?”

Killian scratched just behind his ear, a sign Emma had come to learn was an indication of his unease.

“Not much I’m afraid. I’ve heard a story or two but never encountered them myself. To be perfectly frank, I’m not even sure if they exist.”

“Well if they don’t exist, why would ships claim to have been attacked then?”

“Oh, it’s not uncommon actually. You see, before the canal was built, many of the ships would get caught in the storms around the cape. Sometimes they would genuinely lose a large portion of their cargo, and other times they would claim their losses to be greater than they actually were, especially if they’d been paid in advance. They’d hide the cargo and sell it at another port before docking in London.”

“So they pocket the extra purse?”

“Exactly, and now with the canal helping them avoid the more treacherous waters, they have no excuse to falsely declare their cargo manifest.”

Emma’s father sighed, trying to take in everything Killian had told him. It seemed far fetched, and Emma’s father even said as much, but it was such a bizarre claim that Emma couldn’t help but wonder if there was some merit to it.

“It seems like an awful lot of trouble for so many ships to go to, but I guess it’s not out of the realm of possibilities. And if I’m being honest, I found myself questioning the stories all together when I heard the rumors of the vessel’s captain's name. Who would possibly ever wish to go by the name of Hook?”

Both men laughed at the absurdity of it, but Emma couldn’t rid herself of the knot that had formed in her throat as Killian watched her with a cautious eye. It may have seemed such an absurd name if not for the fact that her father was speaking directly to the man in question without so much as a clue. She had invited the wolf into their home and he had devoured the sheep.

Emma’s chair scraped the wood floor as she stood in a rush.

“Mr. Jones, I do believe it is getting late and you said you needed to return to your ship soon.”

Her father, completely stunned, told the young lieutenant that he didn’t wish to keep him, and Killian for his part nodded and thanked her father for a delightful evening.

Emma followed Killian outside, where he immediately turned to her and tried to speak, but she cut him off, enraged at his audacity.

“Mr. Jones-”

“Am I no longer Killian to you?”

“Mr. Jones, given the situation, I must insist on following proper social decorum as not to beseech or sully my father’s name and standing in his post. I ask that you leave and that you do not return.”

He only nodded and took his leave, breaking Emma’s heart in two as he did so.

_____________________________________

Three months passed in which Emma devoted herself to her mother’s causes. It had been difficult at first as her mother pressed her in the days after the ball as to who her young lieutenant was, and Emma had assured her he was no one as she fought the urge to weep and scream and riot at the very thought of him. But when her father came home two weeks later, irate at learning that there was no such Lieutenant Jones on the HMS Condor, demanding that Emma have nothing to do with him and to report it if she ran into him again, Mary Margaret finally let the subject go.

Instead, her mother nurtured her as best she could, teaching her a new needle point technique, recommending books for Emma to read as the newest member of the women’s auxiliary book club. Anything she could to keep Emma’s mind busy.

Ruby tried as well, showing Emma new places in the city, showing her a mix of the roads less traveled by most sightseers. They shopped at the market and even learned to cook a new dish from an older Egyption woman that Ruby’s Granny had befriended. Ruby still took her monthly trips to have lunch with Belle, but Emma always declined.

Still, despite all of her activities, Emma found her mind wandering to a certain pair of blue eyes. Sometimes the thought of him sickened her so, but sometimes it just left her with a sense of melancholy.

He’d been the only man to captivate her so, to make her feel like she had value as a woman as more than just a future wife or daughter. She’d seen it in the way he interacted with Belle as well. He was different, and she’d foolishly allowed herself to believe him her equal in many ways.

But he was a coward and a cod.

Two month more passed before Ruby finally broke, telling Emma she was being stubborn. That there was more to the story and that if Emma would only keep an open mind, that she would understand.

They fought, and Emma sent her away just as she had Killian. But Ruby had managed to dig her way into Emma’s mind, and her will shattered, curiosity settling into the cracks. Finally, Emma gave in and sought out Belle, with Ruby’s help.

She learned that Killian once had an older brother named Liam. That Belle had actually been engaged to Liam before his passing, and that Killian and she had latched onto each other in the years since as the only family either one had left. That both Jones brothers had been sent by her Majesty to oversee the construction of the canal. That the working conditions for the Egyptians had been less than ideal. It was essentially slave labor, and many of them became ill and if they didn’t die from exhaustion and hunger, they died of cholera instead. That Liam had passed after getting sick as well.

It had all been too much for Killian, who had witnessed everything first hand. The poor conditions, the way his countrymen had come to ravage a country, to indoctrinate themselves. He couldn’t be a party to it anymore, so he took his brother’s ship and crew and they revolted. They shed their uniforms and sailed under no man but themselves. They captured vessels and stole cargo belonging to the queen, giving it back to the Egyptians to sell for profit in reparations.

It was so much more than Emma could comprehend. She’d seen firsthand how the British had taken over parts of the city, but she’d never considered it on such a large scale. And the thought of everything Killian had witnessed, she wouldn’t have had the strength to survive it all the way he had.

She’d been such a fool to dismiss him so carelessly, ignoring everything she’d known about him in favor of the limited gossip her father had spared her over a meal one night.

Belle told her that she expected Killian in a few days time, and told Emma where his ship usually made port to avoid the Naval ships in the area and where’s she’d likely find him in the mid morning. The next two days Emma felt her stomach in knots with anticipation and nerves. She’d barely been able to eat dinner and her mother had fretted that Emma had taken ill.

Sneaking away had been a thing of miracles, and had taken Ruby’s use of distraction, leaving Emma to roam the city alone for the first time. She knew the way, but there had been rumors of unrest in the city again, and although the port Killian used wasn’t far, she’d wished she’d heeded everyone's warnings when she found herself surrounded by two angry men, screaming at her in a language she didn’t understand. She tried to apologize for whatever she’d done and move on, but the men were enraged, and before she knew it, one of them and moved closer. She hadn’t been prepared for the stinging blow that crossed her cheek, nearly knocking her to the ground.

She felt herself being shoved back and forth between the two of them and felt nothing but fear. She’d never been in such a situation and had no way to defend herself. But just as one of them had pushed her against the wall, she heard another voice call out for them to let her go. There was a commotion, but her tear filled eyes had prevented her from seeing most of what had happened. All she’d caught was a blurry figure punching one of the men and both of them taking off down an ally, leaving her in the man’s charge.

The man tried to comfort her, but she recoiled from his touch, breaking into full hysterics, screaming at him to get away, trying to push against his chest when he didn’t leave. Instead he only pulled her closer and hugged her tightly until exhaustion set in and she collapsed into him.

“Shh, It’s okay, love, I’ve got you.”

It was only after she’d calmed down that she was finally able to make sense of what had occurred. Killian had seen the men pushing her and had come to her rescue. She collapsed into him once again, letting herself sink into his embrace that time. When they broke apart, she felt his fingers lift at her chin while he looked her over.

“Emma, what are you doing out here alone?”

“I,” she hesitated, not sure how to begin her apology. “I actually came to find you. I needed to speak to you.”

He gave her a small cautious smile, but he kept his distance, still unsure of his place with her. It broke her heart all over again, knowing that she’d caused him pain. “Come now, let’s get you out of here.”

Emma followed him back to the market where more Englishmen were milling about. “Smee, something has come up that I must see to. I trust you to take care of things here.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Emma watched as Killian handed the stocky man a small notebook before taking her hand and guiding her away towards an area she had never been to before. They walked for a bit in silence before coming upon one of the most breathtaking views Emma had ever experienced. The water stretched out as far as the eye could see.

“I’ve always found the sight of the sea from this place to be calming. I thought that perhaps you could use some of that calmness after what happened back there.”

“It’s beautiful.”

Killian removed his jacket and set it on the ground at Emma’s feet, signaling for her to sit. With his aid, she lowered herself down until she was in a seated position where he joined her. They sat in silence for a bit while Emma worked through her muddled thoughts. She’d had a plan before the incident but everything she’d practiced in her head seemed silly by comparison.

“I wanted to thank you, Killian.” She hoped that the use of his name would have the impact it deserved.

“It was nothing.”

“No, I- I’m sorry, I’ve lost all sense of myself. I just needed to apologize, for that night, for everything. I acted rashly without knowing all of the details and I was a child throwing a tantrum. And then after I treated you so poorly, you still came to my rescue.”

The longer she spoke the more incoherent her words became and she was sure she’d messed up anything all over again. But once again, Killian was the pinnacle of kindness and good form.

“Emma, you had no reason to act any differently. I selfishly crashed your party and then made a cad of myself in front of your father. I’m ashamed of myself for the way I carried on that night and your actions were completely justified.”

“They weren’t though, and I’ve been sick at myself ever since. Please forgive me.”

“Emma, love, there’s nothing to forgive on your part.” “Then there’s nothing to forgive on yours either then.”

He nodded.

“But I must ask, why did you come that night?”

“Don’t you know, Emma? It’s you. I’ve been besotten with you since the moment I met you, and with all the talk of the ball, I drove myself mad at the idea of you dancing with all of those men. I know it was stupid and selfish, but I couldn’t not go. Belle gave me the information.”

“And should I have not sent you away, what would have happened?”

“Emma,” he warned, but she continued.

“Would that dance have been the end of the evening?”

“Emma, I’m trying my best to be a gentleman here. Please. I beg of you.” There was a pleading in his voice. Something she knew was dangerous to push at, but she couldn’t help herself. Not after all of the time she’d wasted avoiding him.

“Would you have watched as I danced with my next partner?”

“Yes. I would have watched with hatred in my heart towards the man holding you in his arms, and I likely would have slipped out before you could notice.”

“And that would have been it?”

“Aye. But I would have left wondering,” she nodded for him to continue, “what it would have been like to kiss you.”

“And now, would you continue to wonder?” All sensibility clearly having left her head as she never would have been so forward had she had her wits about her.

But all thoughts of her impropriety were gone as his lips met hers, ever so softly. Nothing more than a light press of his mouth to hers before he pulled back. She let out the softest of sighs before flashing him a smirk that left him beaming from ear to ear light a young school boy.

They stayed there, in that calm little island among the land for another hour, discussing things Emma had never allowed herself to voice aloud before, an ease and understanding having formed between them. Emma told him of the true reason her father had been stationed in Alexandria. She’d also spoken of why she’d been so sullen at the idea of leaving England. It wasn’t the idea of leaving her childhood home, or her friends, but at leaving behind any chance she had at independence.

Two years prior, the University of London had become one of the first in the country to allow women to not only sit for exams but to earn their degrees. Emma had dreamt of becoming a solicitor, but her move to Egypt had all but assured that dream dead. Instead, she would become like every other woman she knew, marrying an eligible suitor and bearing his children, to live a dreadfully boring life.

Killian told her that her dream would only die if she let it. That he believed in her and that he’d yet to see her fail at anything she’d put her mind to. He encouraged her to apply to the university and to speak with her parents. That even in his limited interaction, he could see the love her father had for her and that he’d want nothing more than her happiness.

He also told her the truth, the entire truth about the activities aboard his ship. That they had many friends that gave them safe harbor and protection from the Navy. That they ever only took items that belonged to the royals and other aristocracy. They never took from people that needed it.

She learned of his childhood. A drunk sot of a father and a sick mother. He and Liam joined the Navy as soon as they came of age hoping to improve their station. He spoke of Liam in the highest regards, and Emma wished she could have met him.

They eventually were forced to leave their little oasis to join Ruby and Belle for lunch, receiving knowing looks from both of the ladies as they sat side by side for the first time, feeling a rush each time their hands brushed each other’s at the table.

When they parted, Killian promised to write to her as often as possible as he had no idea when he’d next be able to visit. Soon he hoped, but they both knew that her father had doubled down on his efforts to capture the elusive Captain Hook since letting him slip through his fingers at the Winter Ball. More patrols had been sent and there had even been a reward offered for information leading to his capture. He assured Emma that he knew the waters better than anyone and wouldn’t get caught but she worried just the same.

Over the next few months, Emma and Killian exchanged letters through Belle. Their mutual friend knew of Killian’s confidants in the city that could get corresponce out by other means. From what she gathered, Killian spent a large portion of his time in Turkey, an ally of England, but not under its control and therefore having no obligation to the crown. Higher officials could more easily be bought there as well, making it a safe haven of sorts for him to hide from her father’s constant searches.

She wrote to him as well telling him that she had secretly applied to three universities in England, not that she expected anything to come of any of her applications when there were so few spots available and much more well connected families, while she was doing it completely alone. She wrote to him about the books she was reading as well, many of which he’d read himself, with Killian recommending more she may like.

Emma spent most of her free time with Belle. Ruby had taken a new beau and they’d only connected in passing. Emma envied her the ability to properly court her young petty officer, even if it meant having Granny as a chaperone most of the time.

Belle’s research had nearly come to an end. With no results, receiving funding had been more difficult and her employer had nearly exhausted his own purse in their search for the library. There had been a few times that they’d believed themselves close, but each of those resulted in disappointment.

Emma dreaded the idea of Belle leaving Egypt, but if she were to be perfectly honest with herself, it was likely for the best. Incidents like the one Killian had saved her from had become all too common in the city. Reports of attacks on British men had begun to circulate, and Emma knew it was only a matter of time before venturing into the city would be impossible. She often worried about Belle. Her hired guide knew the area, but should a situation arise, she wasn’t sure where his true loyalty would lie, or if he'd be able to protect her friend, and the idea of anything happening to Belle left Emma feeling ill.

And as it always happens, all good things did come to an end. Belle’s research was cancelled and her entire team had packed up, ready to return to London after years away. Emma spent the morning with her, helping to see to the rest of her belongings in her small apartment, making sure nothing was left behind. Ruby had managed to pry herself away from Peter long enough to join them as well. Emma had written to Killian, but given tensions everywhere, knew that it would be unlikely that he’d be able to see their friend off.

Not that anything between them would ever really be goodbye with their connection. In time they would find eachother again. But it was that very connection that ensured Killian was there for one last farewell lunch. They ate and despite the stories told and the laughs had, the entire meal was a somber affair, each person there realising that everything was changing and nothing would ever be the same.

When lunch was over, they all left the brasserie one final time, exchanging their goodbyes. The woman all cried as they hugged and promised to write one another. Seeing the embrace between Belle and Killian nearly broke Emma’s heart. She knew how important they were to each other, the familial bond between them, and she knew how hard it must have been for Killian, knowing that he’d be unable to return to England to visit her. Not when he was deemed a deserter by many. She watched as he whispered something in Belle’s ear, and how Belle could only shake her head in return, too choked up for words.

Ruby left first, having made plans with her father and Peter, hoping to seek her father’s approval. Belle left next, her ship departing shortly after, which left only Emma and Killian. They walked slowly through the market, Emma’s hand placed gently in the crook of Killian’s arm, just like any normal couple. Together, they simply enjoyed the time they had before he had to leave again.

They continued through the city until they’d made their way to the spot Killian had brought her to before. Just as before, he removed his jacket for her to sit on, and there they talked as they took in the sight of the sea before them. As the sun lowered, Emma knew she should be getting back before her family missed her, but she hated the idea of saying goodbye to him.

They waited as long as possible, until they could wait no more. But before they headed back, Killian told her that he had a gift for her. She’d expected a small jar of spices or a book like he’d brought to Belle in the past, but instead she watched as his hand rummaged with the collar of his blouse before freeing a small silver chain. She caught just the faintest glimpse of a jewel before Killian had closed her hand around the chain, the weight of it in her palm heavier than expected.

“This belonged to my brother, who gave it to me before he passed. He told me that it would keep me safe, just as it had him, and for all of these years it has. And now I want you to have it. To keep you safe as well when I can’t be with you.”

“Killian, I can’t accept this. It’s too precious!”

“Emma, love, nothing is more precious to me than you, and I couldn’t bear the thought of anything happening to you here.”

Throwing away all sense of propriety, Emma lifted to her tiptoes, resting her hands on his chest as she did so, kissing him with all of the affection she felt in her heart.

Her joy was short live though as she heard a throat clear from behind her. Stunned, she turned, only to find her father staring back. She’d never seen such a look upon his face, and her blood turned to ice.

“Emma, come here now,” he growled.

“Daddy, please, it’s not what you think.”

“Now!”

Emma did as her father commanded, helpless to disobey him, but she continued to plead for Killian, telling her father that he was a good man and that she loved him. Her father baulked at the idea, telling her that she was a naive child that had been taken advantage of. He told Killian that had it not been for Emma’s presence, he would have had the man seized and chained to the stockades already. That he’d found the letters Killian had sent his daughter. David was livid that his Emma had been so irresponsible and had betrayed his trust.

Emma wept as Killian left, unable to say anything to change her father’s mind. He parted with a promise to her that not a day would go by that he didn’t think of her. In return, her father promised that if he ever saw Killian again, he’d have him hung for treason.

In the weeks and months that follow Emma was inconsolable. She’d lost nearly everyone that had meant anything to her. Her father kept a strict eye on her and her interactions with Ruby were limited, and only allowed under supervision. Without Belle to help her send letters, she had been completely cut off from everything.

Most of her time was spent in a melancholy daze. Her mother tried her best to lift her daughter’s spirits, but Emma was despondent. Even when her letter from the University of London arrived informing her she had been accepted to study with them hadn’t been enough to pull her from her misery. It didn’t help that her father had become upset at learning of her intent to leave for school, just another secret she’d kept from him in his eyes.

She moved through life as a walking ghost.

The climate surrounding the city has escalated as well. Many of the Europeans had fled the city in favor of Cairo where the political situation was less terse. The officers on the base had been warned to stay ever vigilant, and visits into Alexandria had been officially forbidden.

No one could have predicted what had come next though. A member of the Egyptian Army who went by the name of Ahmed Urabi, had sparked a revolt among the people. The whispers among the countrymen had become shouts heard from all the way across the Mediterranian. Killian knew all too well the anger dwelling among the Egyptian nationals. He’d seen first hand how the canal had run red with the blood of the men that built it long before it had with the sea. And he knew it was only a matter of time before the land became overrun with devastation.

He’d also heard chatter of British ships collecting in the sea, ready wage an assault on the city, and how quickly tensions could rise. Emma was in danger, and it killed him not being there to protect her, and while her father was formidable, David didn’t know the people or the city.

Eventually, it became too much, and his worry for Emma’s safety outweigh any consideration he gave to his own life. What was the use of avoiding the hangman’s noose with her gone? So he sailed into the heart of the beast, to the ship he knew Emma’s father commanded, allowing his ship to be boarded by British officers for the first time since Liam’s death.

Killian pleaded with Emma’s father, telling him that a revolt was coming, but his warning came too late as the city had been taken under siege that morning. Riots had broken out all over the Alexandria, and that the British armada had orders to attack the city. It took ages of arguing between the two men before a resolution had been found. Killian was certain that the base was in danger, that it would be one of the first places attacked if it hadn’t been already. David, ever as stubborn as his daughter assured him that the base was the safest place Emma could be. It wasn’t until Killian listed all of the ways to sneak it that David realized his concerns may have merit. And it was only on Killian’s solemn word to return with Emma and Mary Margaret and turn himself in to be tried before a British court for his actions against the crown that David relented, letting him sail on towards Alexandria. Killian was sure that if not for his strict orders, David likely would have sailed right next to him.

When he and his crew docked at their usual spot, he found the city in near ruins already. Fires raged through the buildings, people fought in the streets, dragging expats through the narrow corridors by their clothes. Killian rushed through the city as quickly as possible, taking shortcuts wherever he could, throwing a few punches along the way. His sword found its way in the belly of a particularly large rioter at one point. Eventually he reached the base, as just as he had worried, there were already rioters beating against the building doors, tearing down everything in their path.

Killian pushed past them to the house he knew belonged to the highest ranking officer. Knowing that Emma and her mother were likely hiding inside, he kicked down the door, searching for them room by room, calling out her name until he heard her voice, small and weak, coming from a closet. Inside, he found Emma, her mother, and Ruby all huddled together trying to shelter themself from the chaos of the outside world.

With reluctance, Killian finally managed to convince Mary Margaret that she wasn’t safe there and that she needed to follow him. That he would keep them all safe. They fought their way through the pandemonium, running as fast as they could from the hoards of men screaming in the street.

When they reached Killian’s ship, his crew wasted no time setting sail again. They had only barely left when they heard the shots of cannon fire ring out from the other side of the city. Smoke and ashes overtook the sky as Alexandria burned before them. Killian’s first mate tended to the women aboard, making sure they had food and blankets as the ship drifted further and further to sea.

It was surreal for Emma, the dichotomy of the beauty she experienced from nearly that same spot as she arrived in Alexandria only the year before to the way she left it, in desolation. For hours, the ship stayed anchored away from the battle that raged on between the British and Egyptians. The booming cannons rang out through the night, and silence overtook everyone on the ship, each man and woman understanding the weight of what had happened.

It wasn’t until morning when Killian’s crewman witnessed an Egyptian boat float out to sea with a flag of truce that everyone was able to breathe again. As promised, Killian returned Emma, Ruby, and Mary Margaret to David’s ship, awaiting his own fate at the hands of Her Majesty's Navy.

And whether it was exhaustion from the night before, or the gratefulness of a man whose family was safe, David didn’t immediately take Killian into custody. Instead, he had the man escorted to the Captain’s day cabin, while his family was taken to his quarters to rest. Emma was too tired to even protest, but Killian couldn’t begrudge her. She’d been through too much and no matter what fate befell him, knowing she was safe was all that mattered. David had been right before, and as much as Killian had been remiss to admit it to himself at the time, he wasn’t good enough for Emma. He couldn’t give her the life that she deserved as a man on the run, and after years of always looking over his shoulder, he was ready to accept his fate. He was just too tired to continue.

He wasn’t sure how long he waited, likely only an hour, but it felt as if weeks had passed before David emerged, his fatigue obvious in the bags under his eyes. David gestured for him to sit at the round table in the middle of the room, before taking a seat himself.

“I’ve looked into your record. One of the fastest promoted Lieutenants in recent history. Plenty of commendations. You were once an honorable man and I have to believe he’s still in there somewhere.”

Killia had no idea how to respond. It was a far cry from the dress down he’d expected and deserved. So he said nothing.

They sat in silence, each savoring the calmness of the moment.

“I can’t let you go, but I can’t send you to your death after you sacrificed yourself for my family. I’m at a loss for what should happen next.”

“What I did, saving Emma wasn’t to barter my way into your good graces, or to leverage my situation. I did it because I’m in love with her. I’ve done things that I’m not proud of, and I’ve acted rashly at times, and I stand by the actions I took. But I’ve also come to see through Emma, that I wish to be a better man than I’ve been. And that begins now with me accepting the consequences of my actions, whatever they may be.”

David barked out a laugh.

“Yes, and that would go so well for me with my daughter.”

“She loves you. Surely you must know that.”

“I do.”

“Emma carries a great deal of guilt over the end of her relationship with Neal, and the adverse effects it had on you. She holds you in the highest regard and I promise you, she didn’t enter into a courtship with me lightly.”

David stood and walked to a small porthole where the view of the sun setting against the water was visible.

“Is that what it was then? A courtship?”

“You would have to ask Emma.”

David's gaze remained fixed on the horizon as they continued to speak.

“My daughter was accepted to a university back in England. She doesn’t know yet but she begins her courses in a month’s time. And although I know it’s what her heart truly desires, I find that I’m having a difficult time letting her go.”

“Aye, I can imagine.” Killing couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride in Emma's accomplishment, even if it did sting to know she was leaving.

“How did you do it? How did you let her go?”

Killian swallowed, trying to find the words. It wasn’t that he had let her go, as much as he had let her free.

“It wasn’t easy for me either, but as I said before, Ilove her, and sometimes loving someone means realizing that you have to put their needs above your own.”

David grumpled before rubbing his face with both hands.

“I can’t make any promises, but I will see what I can do about having your charges dismissed. No one outside of my family knows who you are. As far as the navy is concerned, you’re nothing more than a deserter.”

“I’m grateful, but you needn’t-”

“What I need is to know Emma has someone with her in London watching out for her. I can’t leave my post, and most of the officers back in England are terrified of Neal's father and will keep their distance out of fear of repercussions. As reluctant as I am to say this, you’re the only person I trust with her.”

It took some doing, many favors called in, but David was able to clear Killian’s record and his time was considered served. Many of the crew members aboard Killian’s ship had been just as grateful to step back on English soil after so many years away. While none of them had verbalised it, they’d each grown homesick in their own rights.

Killian found honest work with Belle and her research team, translating some of the more rare manuscripts they had come across on their newest search for the Temple of Deir el-Bahri, believed to be the resting place of the only three women to rise to the position of pharaoh.

And over the next few years, Emma was able to finish her degree, receiving it under her new married name with David’s blessing. Her father remained in Egypt, still under banishment from Admiral Gold. Long after their daughter was born, Belle and Killian managed to decipher the exact location of Hatshepsut’s resting place, which meant returning to Egypt. Killian had been reluctant to leave, but Emma insisted, reminding him that while Belle was great with books, they needed him for translations. The dig turned out to be a once in a lifetime find, and kept growing, so much so that he’d written to Emma, devastated that he’d be unable to return home in time for christmas.

Which had led to a lonely Emma telling her daughter the very story in question.

_____________________________________

The cocoa has cooled and the fire in the hearth long dwindled. It’s chilly in the drafty house once more, and while she briefly considers adding more wood to it, the hour is late and she really should be getting her little one to bed.

“So Papa started the cinnamon tradition?”

“Yes my little duck. You father introduced it to me, and he passed it on to you as well.”

The young girl lets out an exaggerated sigh.

“I miss him. In class we wrote to Father Christmas and I asked him to bring Papa home. Do you think he got my letter?”

Emma’s heart breaks at the question. Her daughter is still young, too young to understand that Father Christmas is only an illusion, something told to little children to get the magic of the world alive, and that no amount of magic in the world can bring Killian home in time for Christmas morning.

But sometimes, just as her daughter told her that evening, you only have to believe in magic for it to work, and her daughter's belief has apparently been just enough for the biggest Christmas miracle that Emma has ever witnessed.

Because there before them, in a freshly opened doorway just before midnight, stands Killian covered in snow from head to toe. And he isn’t alone. Shuffling into the entryway behind him is her mother and father, neither of which she’s seen since leaving Alexandria. It’s everything she can do not to cry as she rushes to hug them all.

Her daughter screams once she realizes what’s happening and leaps into Killian’s arms as he introduces her to her grandparents for the first time ever. They speak of David’s retirement and her parents plans to move back to London as they’ve already missed so much time together.

Later, when everyone is settled, Killian pulls her aside, and he reveals a small sprig of Mistletoe from his jacket pocket, kissing her with all of the passion of a man who hasn’t seen his wife in nearly seven months.

Things may not be what they were, but this is so much better.

#csss2020 #cssecretsanta2020 #captain swan fanfiction #cs ff #period peice

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blaydiud · 3 years ago

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[ 𝖑𝖔𝖌 ] - 07. 𝖕𝖑𝖆𝖌𝖚𝖊.

Although it still ran rampant, oftentimes it seemed like the plague had reached a more manageable point- at least within what Faerghus considered manageable. The country had always struggled with diseases and outbreaks- its bustling capital, Fhirdiad, was nothing more than a dirty nest of rats and illness with raw filth in its streets before Cornelia was admitted as the new court mage and began aiding King Lambert in improving the city’s sanitary problems. Yet this one felt different than the ailments that disturbed the north country of Fódlan, it felt like a product of magic rather than nature’s punishment for living in filth. One much similar to the country’s last documented plague that killed its queen.

Needless to say, the air was one of pure grief and fear. Entire families wiped, widows and orphans raising in numbers, homeless searching for shelter after theirs were destroyed, the injured and elderly on the brink of death from the shortage of available healers.

It was “manageable”, but the prince couldn’t help but feel like he failed spectacularly at his own job. Helping and aiding his people, ensuring their safety and wellbeing- no matter what he did, nothing worked. He didn’t want to kill those infected in hopes that there may be a way to save them, yet he didn’t want to leave the healthy and innocent to perish. All in all, he felt like he disappointed much more than just his friends or family- rather, he disappointed his country. He wouldn’t be surprised if his own friends and allies began to turn their backs on him after witnessing such poor performance as a ruler-to-be. Such failure from a prince and house leader.

He wanted to be left alone for a bit. It wasn’t the best action, he was well aware- being alone with nothing but his own thoughts was an invitation to unwelcome ideas and voices, but at the same time he felt too ashamed to face others. Icy eyes that usually scouted the area from above were now directed to the found, instead. The blue cape that often blazed brightly under the sunlight was droopy and hidden in the shadows, close to the walls. The confident and mildly fast pace of his boots were now quiet and slow.

The blond hair that was compared to the sun’s mighty rays was obscured by clouds, his posture akin to a withering flower.

Fate had it out for him however, when one of the monastery’s messengers approached. Someone came to visit.

At first Dimitri frowned in confusion, after all who would want to visit him like that? Perhaps Rodrigue, to check in on him? Margrave Gautier? But the plague hadn’t reached the north. Count Galatea? Maybe to report losses and request aid. Maybe Cornelia, to give a detailed report of the disease and discuss what could be done to avoid this type of thing from happening in the future. Of course, all diplomatic matters- although usually directed to the Regent King rather than to him.

What he wasn’t expecting however, was to be sitting inside his room, a tray with boiling hot chamomile tea on the wooden table, two cups, right in front of his uncle- who eyed the room with an arched brow.

He hadn’t seen any signs in the monastery that would suggest the arrival of his uncle. No trumpets, no kingdom soldiers roaming the area, not even the flying units that always accompanied the royal carriages. It was quiet and simple, almost as if his uncle himself didn’t want it to be known that he was here. Maybe that was done on purpose- Rufus was unpredictable as ever. Sometimes he wanted to be received with parties and glamour, other times he’d much rather sneak around the halls like a weasel. He ever chose to meet Dimitri in the prince’s own quarters, rather than reserve a proper meeting room.

“Not bad. Nice non-existent decoration, by the way. Heheh.” A joke that didn’t land, received with silence. Dimitri’s gaze never really met his uncle’s eyes, instead focusing on his cravat, his beard, the teacups or his own hands sitting atop his lap, fiddling nervously with the hem of his jacket.

Dimitri wasn’t sure what to expect from this- it was the first time Rufus had visited him in the monastery ever since the prince left Faerghus for his studies. Did the man come here to scold him? Lecture him? Just hang out? It was hard to tell. Shouldn’t Rufus be at Fhirdiad, acting on his duties and helping to make sure the city was still safe? The prince’s memories went to the response letter Rufus sent after the Church’s complaints about Dimitri’s behaviour in the ball- and the Regent King actively supported his nephew. But now, looking at the older man’s face, Dimitri wasn’t so sure if he came here to support and comfort him...or to yell at him for his incompetence. Or both, or neither.

Another moment of silence, nothing but their quiet breaths and idle noise from outside the room to fill up the void. Old blues lines the details on the room’s stone and wood walls, before stopping at the sight of Dimitri’s form.

“So? How are you holding up?” Rufus tried to strike conversation again, still not touching the steaming cup of tea, nor the sweet buns on a nearby plate. They were all brought from the Kingdom, all things done exactly the way Dimitri would like. The chamomile tea from the palace’s storehouse- the same kind that Lambert would drink in his afternoons, the buns prepared by the royal bakery- with marshmallow fillings, chewy and soft. Their smell was familiar enough for the prince’s own poor nose to catch on their scents, the smell of nostalgia dulled but present.

The intention behind these was still gray to the prince, however.. He reached out for his teacup, gauntlets long discarded, sitting atop his bed. “I feel well.”

The regent’s expression was neutral, unconvinced. With slow blinks, one would think he’s much older than his early fifties. His long blond mane was clearly messier than usual, some white hairs poking out. The blue of his eyes was lined by dark circles, his posture looked both at ease and crumbling down. Stress, perhaps. Exhaustion, unhappiness. Things that seemed alien for the king that would throw feasts and extravagant parties nearly every month- at least from others’ point of view. The Rufus people saw occupying the throne, the Rufus people used to suspect had a hand in the late king’s murder, the Rufus called sleazy and useless.

Dimitri’s silly, rebel uncle and his only family. Two completely different people.

“I…” The prince started again, unsure. “...I feel like I did a poor job.”

“Poor job at what?” The older man’s brows furrowed slightly, confused. “Got bad grades?”

“No, my grades are fine.” At least for now, they looked good enough. “I performed poorly in aiding the people in the Kingdom. So much was happening, there was so much to be done and I could not-”

“You’re not a mage, boy. Not a healer, either.” And you’re not king yet. “There was nothing for you to do there.” Rufus’ words were quick and sharp, spoken seemingly without a care.

As if they didn’t hurt at all, a simple fact. Dimitri deflated, visibly. Noticing that his words were perhaps too harsh, Rufus scratched his bearded cheek, suddenly uncomfortable. “You- train to be a knight, don’t you? So. Unless you walked out there to kill those diseased people, then there wasn’t anything you could do. Maybe stand there and grant the people comfort, but just that.” The more the regent king tried to do damage control, the more salt was added to the prince’s wounds.

Rufus frowned, huffing. Uncle was always horrible at this, Dimitri thought. After a pause that seemed infinite, the older man tried to speak once more.

“What I mean is that-...ugh, sorry boy but there’s no other way to put it. I’d much rather have you doing nothing and being healthy than you running around the diseased and ending up like one too.” Typical of the older Blaiddyd. Dance around the issue in hopes of sugarcoating or changing the subject, only to drop a bucket of cold water- of truth, unceremoniously like that. Dimitri, unamused, finally met Rufus’ own.

“You want me to just stand aside and watch them fall one by one? You want me to watch them die and do nothing about it? What kind of ruler does that to his people?” Icy eyes grew a flame of their own.

“That’s not it at all- listen to my words, Dimitri. It is dangerous out there, even now. As much as I hate this damned building it’ll be better for literally everyone if you stay here.” Both voices were quickly rising in volume- once a quiet and controlled argument, now a potential shouting match.

The prince’s hands were flat against the table, as if he were close to abruptly standing up- to prove a point. Or to just leave the room and be by himself, even though he knew well that Rufus would follow. “I will not sit on my hands and watch the people of Faerghus sink in a sea of torment! Even if I cannot perform healing spells, I wish to at the very least be there for them! So that they know they have someone to rely on!”

“You’ll die out there if you do that! Leave that task to me-”

“-You’re doing nothing about it! Nothing!”

Although slightly taken aback by the shout, it was unclear if the prince’s words hurt Rufus. “Dimitri, think. I’m not telling you to sit and eat imported steak from Almyra next to a dying villager, what I’m saying is that there’s no use for you to roam around in a situation that’s unsafe and that you cannot directly interfere in! Lances and swords can only do so much, you know that better than me!” Rufus’ voice wasn’t a shout of anger, but rather a steady- and loud, command. He was defining an ultimatum for Dimitri to back down and obey. “It’s unfortunate that you had no means or ways to have a say in what happened but there’s no use in moping about it all day.”

The prince seemed to be stuck between curling in on himself and glaring back at his uncle with defiance.

Rufus glared back with a similar fire in his eyes. “Don’t make that face at me.” The regent leaned in the chair, sighing. He finally reached for the tea- still warm, but not as much as before. Dimitri was still silent, immobile in the opposing chair. His emotions were a swirl of anger, grief, outrage and sadness- he felt justified in his points, yet felt that his outburst was horribly childish. Also unfit for a prince, as well as for someone his age.

Old, greyed azures roamed the room once more before focusing on one of the lances leaning against the wall. The lance Dimitri took with him when he left for Garreg Mach, a steel so smooth and clear that the lance was almost white in color with a charming blue decorating its hilt and the middle of its blade.

His vision wasn’t great as it used to be, but he could make out stains around its blade. Blood was a stubborn little thing, sometimes. The hilt was straight and seemed intact, save for subtle indents from what could only be Dimitri’s hands grasping it. Rufus had always supported having the prince learn how to fight, but he couldn’t help but get a grim feeling from seeing the weapon. From knowing that Dimitri was training to kill. It was all expected, but never easy to swallow.

“Fhirdiad was a little nightmare. No disease, but the people were scared. Panicking.” The regent started casually, slightly tired. He took a sip of the tea, then finally grabbed one of the buns and took a bite.

“Did you do something about it, at least? Did you talk to them?” With words sharper than a knife, Dimitri reached out for his own teacup but stopped midway. Depending on Rufus’ answer, the cup could shatter in his hold- which would be quite unfortunate.

“Me? Dimitri, they hate me. If I stepped out of that balcony to say a ‘good morning’ Goddess knows what they’d throw at me in rage.” The older man stated with similar, ominous indifference. It filled the prince with a dull anger, but not enough to justify another fit.

Always avoiding anything that could prove to be inconvenient to you, uncle. The prince wanted to find it disgusting, outrageous, but his heart didn’t allow it. This was family.

Dimitri decided to fully reach for his cup, despite unfavorable feelings brewing in his chest. “I could have gone to Fhirdiad and offered moral support to its citizens, in that case. The lack of my presence is unforgivable. I will be perceived as unreliable-”

Rufus’ hand came down on the chair’s wooden handle, not hard enough to shatter it but enough for the furniture to audibly creak. “The roads to Fhirdiad were crawling with the diseased! Our pegasus and wyvern knights were tasked with transporting medical equipment and food, and the mages skilled enough to cast a Warp spell were too busy trying to find a cure! Even that pink haired witch was too busy! There was no safe way for you to return, Dimitri!” The regent’s gaze was piercing, making full contact with Dimitri’s icy blues- which still burned in defiance, but the flame was weak. “Can’t you see that as much as the people need their ruler, no level headed person in Faerghus wants another royal funeral? You doing nothing and staying alive- nobody will hold this against you, dammit! Nobody here wants you dead!”

Rufus ran his hands through his hair, an ashy golden mane naturally messy that went past his shoulders. “Me included. So stop having those stupid ideas already.” The outburst from before was reduced to a meek, shaky mumble. With his face obscured from view, it was hard to make out his gaze- if it was one of anger, of exhaustion, or one of tears.

It tore a shuddered breath out of the prince. “...my apologies.” If this answer was genuine or performative, it was unclear. “But I...have to disagree with you.”

The regent simply shook his head and leaned back on the chair again, frowning at how one of the wooden handles was now slightly crooked from his fit. It seemed like another moment of silence, except Rufus knew that any time now Dimitri would say something. From the trembling of his lips and how his gaze zipped around aimlessly. Working up the courage to speak, rehearsing words in his brain.

It came out with an audible sob and a wobbly voice that the regent was most definitely not expecting.

“I just don’t want to be like this…” Helpless, useless. “To stand there...with nothing to do- while people-” Die around me. “I-”

“I don’t want it again.” The sentence was slightly mangled. “To have no control on the- the situation and-”

“Dimitri.”

“People keep dying around me and I can’t do anything about it!”

“Dimitri-”

“I’m ne- ever enough to make it stop! It's unfair! Unfair that I get to breathe all day doing nothing and they-”

“Silence!” The prince yielded, but his sorrow blazed on.

“...Sometimes it happens. And there’s nothing you can do about it. Call it fate or the Goddess throwing a fit or whatever, but there’s...there are things we can’t stop.” At first unsure, Rufus reached for the prince’s forearm, rubbing it gently.

“Being royalty, having a crest- none of these things matter sometimes. You’re just a person. And some things are just out of your power for...being a person like any other. Doesn’t make you weak, but...well, it happens. You’re helpless as I am.”

Dimitri replied with silence.

“And if any of your friends give you crap for it, then guess what? They’re not friends.” Rufus still didn’t know who Dimitri was friends with- except from the ones he’d spot on the palace sometimes. The youngest boy from Duke Fraldarius, the one from Margrave Gautier, and one of Count Galatea’s little girls. They seemed like good kids, at least. “And if that happens then- whatever! I’m here! It’s not much but I’m here!”

What could only be interpreted as a meek chuckle was all Dimitri reacted with. A funny thing for Rufus to say, considering how sometimes he didn’t bother to read his letters and never came to visit. He was too tired to confront the man about it however- so he let it pass. Rufus would probably forget about it later, anyway.

“Also can you- ugh, wait.” The regent produced a handkerchief and handed it out. “I know it’s rough and you’re sad but wipe your face? It’s three quarters water at this point. Gross as hell.” The Blaiddyds never looked pretty while crying. Always a red-faced wet mess, yet the redness and the tears made the blue of their eyes jump out exponentially.

“Language, uncle.” Dimitri grabbed the offered handkerchief- it held the emblem of Itha, not of the Royal banner- and pressed it against his face. He didn’t care, blew his nose on it despite an audible sound of disgust from the regent and handed it back.

“...you can keep it.” Rufus’ grimace was enough to finally make the prince laugh softly. A real laugh.

Dimitri sighed, feeling a headache coming in- one of exhaustion, the typical ones after a cry. Instead of looking down, however, he stared at the now cold cup of tea and the mostly untouched buns. “I just do not wish for my people, allies and friends to perceive me as… weak and unreliable. That is all.” I don’t want to be abandoned again.

The older man chuckled. “It’s funny to hear you speaking all fancy after all of that.” Dimitri simply huffed.

“Prince or not, you’re still a kid. Kids aren’t perfect, I bet that princess from Adrestia also has her slip ups as well as the little guy from Leicester you threw hands with. If people cast you aside for a mistake out of your power, then they’re the ones in the wrong for putting on impossible expectations.” Dimitri noddled idly, although he didn’t seem to be fully on board. Stubborn little thing, just like his dad, Rufus thought.

“...I wish to support Faerghus still, however. Even if I could not do much when the disease was out of control...now that everything has reached a more stable point, I would like to help the people in every way I can.”

“And that’s alright. Just don’t skip school and be a good boy.”

“Uncle.”

“What? You can’t be in two places at the same time, Mitya.” That baby nickname was enough to calm the prince down slightly. It was only ever used by his family nowadays- as his friends have all but stopped calling him anything other than Your Highness. It felt a bit embarrassing at times, as if Rufus were babying him, but it also brought comfort.

“I- okay, I yield!” The prince crossed his arms, huffing out. “You are impossible, truly. Quite frustrating, at times.”

“Yadda yadda.” Rufus smirked, sipping on the now cold tea. ”Sheesh, this thing tastes like leaf water when it’s cold. Bad leaf water.”

“That is more or less what tea is composed of.” Dimitri grabbed one of the sweet buns, taking a bit and munching with visible glee once he noticed that the pastries were bakes to fit his preferences.

“Finally, dammit! I thought you wouldn’t eat any of these! Well, you could at least spare one to give to a pretty girl you like.” Rufus winked and grabbed another pastry, powdered sugar lining his golden beard.

Dimitri made noises of disapproval, but preferred to just continue eating. Although his heart was still heavy with uncertainty and disappointment in himself, he felt that at least at that very moment, he could afford to occupy himself with something- or someone else. Other than death and suffering, other than despair.

He’d brace himself for a difficult path, now. One of painful recovery and unfortunate difficulties.

#[ ah this takes me back… ] (drabbles)#[[ yo this got LONG ]]#[[ but now that the month's ending have a lil drabble for dimitri @ the plague in faerghus ]]#[[ and uncle hours? uncle hours ]]

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captainkappa · 3 years ago

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Fanfic:: Bad Habits

Cobb, never one for knowing when to keep his mouth shut, asked, “Do you do that often? Cauterizing yourself?”

Mando paused. “I used to.”

My second bingo fic is up! It’s really pulling its weight in terms of getting me a bingo and is actually the first fic I thought of for the event!

Huge shout out to @staranon95 for betaing and helping out with the ending!

AO3 Link

-=-=-

When Cobb got called out of Mos Pelgo by Boba Fett of all people, he could handle it. He’d been prepared for a fight, but what he’d gotten was a job of all things. A couple of Zygerrians had set up shop outside of Mos Espa with the intent of revitalizing their corner of the slave market and Fett wanted them taken care of. Cobb had accepted, after the promise of payment and that Fett wasn’t doing this to “knock off competition in the market.”

When he walked out of the palace, coordinates in hand and he saw Mando – his Mando – standing stiff as a board beside his speeder, Cobb could handle it. He could handle it better if Mando gave any indication of remembering him, but he brushed it off. Mos Pelgo was a tiny town and Mando probably had way more important journeys in the months since he landed in Cobb’s neck of the woods.

When their speeders got blown up, Cobb could handle it. They both saw the gunman pop up before he fired, leaping off their speeders into the warm sand, ducking behind dunes as twinned explosions went off. They hadn’t known the Zygerrians were anticipating them, but they jumped into the fight all the same.

Leaning up against the heavy desk of the slavers, taking inventory of his injuries, Cobb was getting real tired of everything the day was throwing at him. He was just glad Din had stepped out to comm Fett with their situation; mission complete with all the slavers dead, but their speeders were unsalvageable and the slavers seemed to not own their own transport.

Cobb’s knee was going to complain for a couple of days, he’d gotten singed in a couple of places, scraped elsewhere, but there was really only one place that needed immediate attention; his shoulder, assumedly when he tackled that man right when he had busted in through the building. The armor, more ill-fitting than the Mandalorian armor, but still functional, had protected his vitals, but the vibroblade had skimmed off to clip his shoulder. It wasn’t so deep as he needed to panic, but it was deeper than he would've liked.

He was applying pressure when Mando walked in. Except for the tiredness weighing him down and scorching on the armor, the armored man looked the same as he did when they rolled up to the place.

He rolled his shoulders before leaning against the wall. “Shand says pick up in four hours.”

Cobb’s hand slipped from his shoulder. “What? What’s the karking hold up?” The outpost wasn’t that far away from the Palace.

“Minor sand gusts. Nothing terrible, but they can’t fly through it. And with it being the middle of the day…” He trailed off, not needing to explain to a local how everything shut down until at least one of the suns was leaving its apex.

A flair of pain pulsed from Cobb’s shoulder. He hissed, eyes snapping shut until the pain faded. He readjusted his grip, blood slipping through his fingers.

“Great. Do you have a medpack?”

“On the speeder.”

Cobb snorted, but the movement bit into his shoulder wound. “Dank farrik.”

He gritted his teeth against the pain and looked around the room again. It was a cushy office space, not a well-stocked med-station. Even so, they had been prepared enough to have blasters on hand. Surely assholes of this caliber would have something-

There.

He hobbled over to the cabinet, shoving aside a dead slaver in his way. He picked up the bottle and uncorked it with his teeth as he walked back to his seat, half falling into it.

“Spotcka?” Mando asked.

“Multi-purpose. Great for bar fights.”

Cobb tore off his scarf one handed, half choking himself in the quick movement. He took a swallow for himself – Maker knew he deserved it – then poured enough onto his scarf for the majority of it to turn a dark maroon.

He slapped it on the wound, hissing as the alcohol burned. With his elbow, he nudged the bottle to Mando.

“Go on, clean yourself up. Alcohol does great at carbon scoring.”

He took the bottle and stepped away from Cobb, into a corner of the room untouched by the bloodshed, setting it on a small table. Cobb shrugged to himself. If the man wanted to treat himself in peace, he wouldn’t judge. Maybe he wanted to remove the helmet for a drink. He wouldn’t pursue the matter.

There were larger issues at hand, either way. He slowly lifted the scarf and folded it to a point to better clean at the edges of the injury. The angle wasn’t great, but he had enough faith in himself to clean out most of the grit.

He brought the sweat drenched shirt cuff to his mouth and bit down as he pressed deeper in, not wanting to disturb the silence between the two of them with his cries as he got more dirt and sand out.

His arm dropped and he let in a big gulp of air, the rank smell of sweat getting to him. As he breathed in the dry air, he realized it wasn’t the smell of sweat that was tingling his nostrils.

It smelled like burning.

He turned and saw Mando hunched in the corner, running a sparking instrument over his bicep. It didn’t look like any medical instrument Cobb had seen and even if it was, he suspected that wasn’t the type of thing a person used on themselves, especially with the bit-back groan that escaped the Mandalorian.

“What the fuck are you doing!?” Cobb exclaimed

Mando’s head snapped up, tool skittering off in the wrong direction across his skin, leaving an angry red trail. He cursed, turning it off before answering.

“You said to clean myself up!” he said, defensiveness thick in his voice.

Cobb pulled himself up, his knee screaming at all of the movement, but he’s not about to let Mando get off easy with this. He drags a side table over, the lamp falling off with the sharp movement. He sits unceremoniously down beside Mando.

“Not if it meant making your arm a damn fricassee. Lemme see.”

That bucket of Mando’s didn’t move, but with a sharp movement, he pulled back the torn sleeve of his shirt to reveal the half-cauterized wound. The bleeding was sluggish, staining the fabric an even darker brown. It definitely looked deep, so why hadn’t he said anything?

Cobb bit back his scowl. “Gimme that,” he said, nodding his head at the tool in his hand.

“It’s deep.”

“So? Burns can get infected too. You’re just coming at it from a different angle. Same sarlacc, different pit. Now gimme.”

Din handed over the offending piece, which Cobb put out of arm’s reach on the counter.

“Now, hand me the spotchka.”

He did so and after his speeder getting blown up, the fight going south quicker than expected, the long extraction time, and his shoulder smarting like nothing else, Cobb wasn’t particularly nice. He let a splash of it run down Mando’s arm, causing him to jump back and hiss.

“What was that for?”

“To clean it!”

He knew he should be more worried that Din hadn’t considered a safer, less painful method of taking care of himself, but right now he was angry, so he splashed more spotchka on the wound. Mando’s hiss was quieter this time.

Cobb moved to press his own scarf on the wound, but paused when he saw how much of his own blood he had already got on it. None of this was sanitary, but he had to draw a line in the sand at some point. He looked around for something else to scavenge. There was a thin blanket thrown over a couch that would have to do. Cobb leaned back, ripping a strip from the blanket. He ripped it in two, soaking one in alcohol and setting the other aside.

He glanced up and saw Mando continue to stare at him. Even in the armor, the way he held his arm close to him made him look like a skittish anooba.

“I gotta… make sure it’s clean,” he said, holding up the soaked cloth. “It’s deep,” he added lamely.

But that seemed to be enough, as Mando relaxed his arm, holding it out. Cobb gently took his elbow, pulling it even closer. He stilled underneath him as he ran the cloth over his arm.

If the silence before felt comfortable, now it was oppressive, or maybe it was because both of their breathing felt too loud.

Cobb, never one for knowing when to keep his mouth shut, asked, “Do you do that often? Cauterizing yourself?”

Mando paused. “I used to.”

His free hand flexed at his side before rucking up his sleeve further. There was more burnt flesh, jagged, blackened raised lines of various sizes. He felt his stomach dip out from underneath him.

“Stars.” Cobb ran a finger around the edge of one fully healed absentmindedly. He pulled away as he felt the shiver run up Mando’s arm.

“Shit, sorry.”

“No, I’m fine,” Mando said, a rasp to his voice that argued otherwise.

Cobb wasn’t a stranger to folks who jumped at sudden touches. There were deep buried memories of a time when he jumped at the slightest friendly touch. Took years to teach that out of a person; most people in Mos Pelgo had experience with it or helping someone through it.

Cobb straightened up, putting a little distance between him and Mando.

“Do you want me to… keep cleaning it?”

He shrugged with his one good arm. “Can’t tie a knot with one hand.”

Pragmatic, the bastard.

But if Mando could be stubborn, so could he.

“I can tie the bandage, but you could clean it. Whatever you’re comfortable with Mando.”

Mando’s voice filled the room with an unexpected gruffness. “I said it’s fine.”

“Alrighty then.”

Cobb quickly went back to cleaning the wound, much more aware of Din’s reactions than he was before, but Mando didn’t say anything else. Cobb made sure to clean beyond just the initial cut, making sure the burn l when he startled Mando didn’t get infected as well.

When he finished, he tossed the dirty scrap into a corner of the room. He picked up the clean scrap and tied it tightly around the cut.

“Probably need stitches on that, but it’ll hold.” Cobb glanced down at his chronometer. They still had an awful long time till Boba’s buddies made it out to them. “You hurt anywhere else?”

For what felt like an awfully long time, Mando stayed silent, before saying, “Might have broke my finger.”

“Let me see.”

Din held up his hand on the same arm, stripping it of the glove in awkward, jerky movements. A visual check revealed nothing looking out of place, no obvious bulging or bruising, but Cobb knew from experience that sometimes broken bones could be tricky.

“I’m gonna have to… try and feel it out.”

He goes rigid, barely moving.

Cobb holds up his hands placatingly. “We don’t have’ta! You can probably… do it yourself?”

“No, no, you do it.”

“Alright, partner.”

Cobb wasn’t a medic by any stretch of the term, but years of enslavement meant that he could tell a fracture from a break from a healed bone. Poke at something long enough and he’d find the break. He started with Mando’s hand, taking each finger in hand and feeling them up. The tendons in Mando’s hand stuck out prominently, the tension evident.

“How’d you come to meet a man like Boba Fett?”

“They followed me for the armor. Nearly shot me for it and then he helped me with another matter.”

“That involve the kid?” Cobb winced internally at the question. He was trying to relax the man, get him to open up more, but he had noticed the absence of the little green guy, and if Mando brought the kid to a krayt dragon fight, then he brought him everywhere.

Mando stilled, but the tension in his hand faded. If there was something he knew about Mando, one of the few things was that he thought more than he spoke. That didn’t mean he thought before he spoke. Cobb remembered how he volunteered Mos Pelgo without asking, but there was still intention behind his words. As Cobb moved on from Din’s fingers to his palm, he imagined that this was what was going on in Mando’s brain.

“The kid is safe.”

If that’s all Mando was offering, he’ll take it. “That’s good to hear.”

No reaction with the bones of his palm, and with his hand more relaxed, Cobb moved down to his wrist and immediately, Mando hissed.

“Ah, there it is. Don’t move.”

Mando’s wrist stayed in the air as Cobb ripped up more strips of blanket. The room was starting to smell now with scents that Cobb didn’t want to be familiar with but he was. He hoped it wouldn't sink into his clothes.

He came back to Din’s wrist and began binding it as well as he could with the limited supplies. Mando remained still, not ramrod straight like he had been, but still as not to interrupt Cobb’s work trying to make sure his wrist didn’t move in the bindings.

When he was halfway done with the scrap, trying to calculate whether he needed to tie another scrap to make it longer, his shoulder twinged in pain, making its annoyance at being forgotten known. He bit back a hiss.

“Hold that there- good,” he said, letting Mando hold the bandage in place while Cobb reached for the spotchka with one hand, pressing the hole with another.

He took another drink, pain already numbing.

“Probably shouldn’t have all this alcohol”

“Probably not, but it’s great before and after a fight. Best damn drink I had of my life was after the krayt dragon. Shame you weren’t there. Should’ve invited you.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Cobb paused, bottle halfway to his lips for another drink.

“You were dead set on leaving. And if I may be so selfish, I couldn’t bear to look at that armor off my body any longer.”

Din nodded slowly. “I’m… sorry I left you with nothing.”

He finished taking a drink, a wry smile on his lips. “Yeah, you left us with no krayt dragon.”

“I mean no protection.”

“The krayt dragon was most of our problems anyway. And this-” he tapped the center of his chest plate “-has served me well. Well, mostly.” He tipped a little spotchka into his shoulder, hissing as he did so. Had the bleeding started slowing down?

Mando held out his unbandaged hand. “Here, let me.”

“I can handle it, Mando.”

“Din.”

Cobb stopped, brain trying to process what he had said as Mando continued.

“My name is Din. You patched me up, so I’m patching you up.”

Cobb was about to shrink back, to go back to drinking, but then he looked at the slope of Mando- Din’s shoulders, the tilt of his head, the steadiness of his hand. And then his shoulder twinged again.

“Alright, partner, but I gotta get that wrist set first. Not gonna have you mess up my good work tryin’a dote on me.”

Din nodded and Cobb got right back to work on his wrist. No sooner had he finished wrapping up Din’s wrist was Din reaching for the now torn up blanket, slicing at it with a knife he pulled from his boot.

“Should be clean.”

A snort – an actual snort – came out of Din’s helmet. “Should be, dropped half the damn bottle on it.”

“Hey, I’m drinking for two.”

Din just shook his head before leaning over, wrapping make-shift bandages over his shoulder. This close, Cobb thought he would be able to feel Din’s breath if it wasn’t for the helmet. They had never gotten this far in each other’s spaces that first time he met, and suddenly he felt himself freezing in place.

After a few seconds of silence, with Din pulling the bandages into place, Din spoke up, “You asked if I cauterized myself often. I did, until I met Grogu. Stopped doing a lot of stuff once I got him. I think losing him… made it easier to pick up those habits.”

“I get it.” Din’s helmet tilted up, and Cobb shrugged with his good shoulder. “I do, I have lifetimes of bad habits I’ve lost and picked back up. It takes a lot to get out of those habits.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t say hi earlier.”

Cobb let out a sharp laugh. “I’m just glad I saw you again. Wasn’t expecting to ever again in my lifetime.”

Din started wrapping the bandages tighter. “Really?”

“Yeah, you were made for spaces bigger than Mos Pelgo, than Tatooine.”

“Hold this for me?” Cobb took the end of the bandage from him. Din took the other end and started twining them together, Cobb trying to help as he realized he was trying to tie a knot.

Cobb was about to think his comment would go unnoticed, when Din said, “A Mandalorian keeps their word.”

Cobb’s gaze snapped up and he tried to find Din’s eyes in that black visor. Was he misreading the intent in his voice?

The moment was broken by Din sharply tugging on the knot. Cobb bit back a curse as Din leaned back.

“Well, we’re not gonna bleed out at this rate,” Cobb said, testing out how much movement he had.

“Boba should have better medical facilities.”

“Oh, is the high and mighty Fett gonna share with the people?”

Din tilted his helmet. “Do you… know why he came back?”

Cobb shook his head. “I was too busy making sure he paid me fairly.”

So, Din explained Shand’s and Fett’s plans for Tatooine, talk of abolition and ridding the planet of corruption. It wasn’t talk that Cobb had heard before, especially not someone who better had the manpower to put weight behind the words. It was enough that Cobb didn’t outright laugh in Din’s face at the idea. And if it meant he got hired to take out a few slavers in the meantime, it might be worth it.

Hired with Din as well…

He inhaled sharply as he forcibly steered his mind in another direction. He succeeded in distracting himself only when he got a lungful of the scent of death. He choked and coughed on the feeling. He was just glad that Din didn't pound his back, not sure if his body would be able to take it, but Din’s hand rested on his knee.

“’M fine, I’m fine. We should see if Boba can get us out of here sooner. That or we have to start moving bodies.”

The two looked around the room, neither wanting to move anything in their injured states. Din nodded, pulling out his commlink.

Fett’s voice piped through the speaker. “Djarin, how are you two doing?”

“Good, patched up as best we can, but a transport would really be nice.”

“Gettin’ real rank in here, Fett!” Cobb called out. “And Din said you had bacta to spare which I’d really appreciate!”

He heard the crackly laughter through the speaker. “Does this mean you two are getting on better?”

“I- yes?”

“Good, transport will be there within the hour.”

“Wait, what happened to four- Boba?!” Din shouted as the call clicked off.

Cobb couldn’t help the unexpected laugh at Din’s outburst, even as the movement pulled on his bandages.

“What was that about?” he asked when he had the air to breathe.

Din sighed, tucking his comm back into his belt. “I haven’t a clue.”

“Do you want to sit outside?” Cobb offered. “Might be some shade now.”

He watched as Din’s gaze swept the room.

“Sure, can’t smell much worse out there.”

The two less so walked out of the building than they did hobble, Cobb’s knee flaring up quicker than expected, forcing him to lean on Din, but there was a corner of shade they could sit under.

They settled, side by side, barely an inch of space between them. The desert in front of them was calm, with most critters burrowed underground until at least two suns started setting.

Cobb turned his head just enough to look at Din.

“I know it’s a late invitation,” he started, “but would you want to come back for a drink once we’re properly patched up?”

Din turned to look at him, and Cobb was struck with how much easier it was to see himself in the helmet than it was to see Din.

“Sure, just no spotchka.”

Cobb huffed out a laugh. “Alright, partner. No spotchka.”

#dincobb #marshalorian #marshmando #cobbdin #dincobb hurt comfort bingo #granted its mostly comfort #ya bitch was too tired to write the fight scene.#also boba at the end came out of NO WHERE but after i thought of it i couldnt let go #kappa writes #my fanfic #din djarin #cobb vanth #id really like to make sure this doesnt end up in the big tags #but idk if ill have that choice #din djarin x cobb vanth #cobb vanth/din djarin #the mandalorian #star wars #sw

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sketchy-saram · 4 years ago

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Hello! This is Chapter 2 of a Kiwren (Kiran/Wren) story I wrote a while back, although you can find it in their tag if you want to read part one! For anyone who is new, Kiran is @lazyvoyager‘s fan kid of Illain and Muriel, and Wren is the adopted kid of my Celeste and Julian.

Summary: After seeing her crush with someone else, Wren goes to drink her sorrows away at the Rowdy Raven...after hatching a plot to leave Vesuvia, fate has other plans, and she is rescued just in time to throw up on her rescuer and pass out. xD

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KIWREN CHAPTER 2

Wren stood in the middle of a beautiful meadow. Dappled sunlight shone through the cherry blossom trees, petals gently floating down to the ground and forming a pillowy, light-pink carpet under her feet. She was barefoot--oh, no, she was actually wearing extremely cute slippers, with ribbons that tied up the length of her calves, meeting with the frothy hem of her skirt. It was a dress she had been toying with, beautifully tailored, and now she was wearing it here--wherever here was--and the scene was absolutely perfect. She reached for her braid, only to realize her hair was already loose and in gorgeous honey-amber waves, and had grown a foot or two as well, adorned with a cherry-blossom crown at the top.

Everything was adorable and elegant, and the warm glow she felt wasn’t only from the sun, especially when she glanced across the field and saw the love of her life standing there. He was tall and svelte; that scar across his face adding such character; the dark lines of the tattoo on his chest just peeking out from underneath a billowing white linen shirt. The sight of it had Wren feeling weak in the knees; her stomach trembled, her heart fluttered.

Giddy, she began to run through the petals towards him, in what felt like slow-motion...or, maybe she was running in slow motion? Weird...and he turned to look at her fully, a smile spreading across his face, his arms opening wide in preparation for her. Any confusion she felt was forgotten.

Perfect.

And then there was the oddest sensation of falling. A sudden drop. Everything around her darkened to the black of deadest night. She was barely able to catch herself...except, wait, she hadn’t caught herself at all. She was in a firm grip, surrounded by muscle. Her stomach pitched; this time uncomfortably. Wren’s eyes wildly rolled, trying to find where he had gone...only to see him, walking away, his arm around a beautiful woman with curves everywhere and ever-expanding breasts…

With a jolt, Wren sat up in bed, sweat covering her face and neck, what was left in her stomach threatening to come up. With a heroic amount of effort, she choked it back down, although it was touch-and-go for a few seconds. When at last she could open her eyes without the room spinning, it was with no small amount of consternation.

While she was pretty sure she was no longer dreaming, this was not the room she remembered. It wasn’t her room, and, she was fairly certain, it wasn’t ANY room in her house. She wasn’t even sure it was a room, if she was being honest. Was that...a tree root? Was this house built into a tree? Was that sanitary? Didn’t bugs live in trees? Squirrels? Birds?

Were there birds in this house??

Her mind whirled, and she had to press her hand to her mouth again and stop all thought in order not to be sick. The strange musty smell surrounding her didn’t help, and when she looked down at the blanket that had pooled around her waist, she realized it was some sort of pelt.

Opening one eye, she tried again to take stock of where she was, and to remember what had happened. Why couldn’t she remember? What did she do last night??

And then the last part of the dream flashed before her eyes in stark relief.

Oh. That’s right. That part...wasn’t a dream. Well, the enormous breasts part might have been, but the rest wasn’t. Her chest seized in pain before she could stop herself from thinking about it. She didn’t want to think about it, and luckily for her, there were other pressing matters to focus on. Wren could recall walking through town, dwelling on her misery, and then…

She groaned.

The Raven.

Yes, that was where it had all gone south, so to speak. She had a vague recollection of leaving, and something about her sketchbook…?

Ugh. Her mouth was like cotton, every part of her face felt puffy and blotchy from yesterday’s crying, and she desperately wanted to curl under a blanket that wasn’t made from animals and pretend not to exist for at least a day. Maybe a couple months. If she could, she would hibernate this whole heartache away. But, it seemed, that was never going to be her luck, so instead, she had to figure out what to do next.

Gingerly, Wren threw back the rest of the hide with her forefinger and thumb, revealing with relief that she was still wearing everything from the day before...with a few new, dubious stains. She added fresh clothes and a shower to the list of things she would have killed for right about then. Instead, she got her feet planted on the roughly-hewn wooden floor, just about ready to try standing…

When the door of the hut? room? crashed open to reveal one of the biggest men she’d ever seen.

Reflexively, she grabbed the hide again, yanking it up to her chin to cover herself despite being fully clothed. The stranger didn’t seem to notice as he looked towards her, his face a mess of freckles and beaming smile in dark, sun-tanned skin. The visage looked vaguely familiar, but the pounding of her heart stopped Wren’s mind from being able to place it.

“You’re awake!” he said, voice booming cheerfully around the homely abode. It was not as deep as she might have expected from someone so...well...built. “I wasn’t sure what we were going to do with you if you didn’t wake up, honestly.”

That statement had the hairs on Wren’s neck bristling, and instead of staring at this newcomer, she remembered that all else aside, she was in a dangerous situation. A woman, alone with an extremely burly man, in a strange place, unsure of what was happening.

Well, she wasn’t going to go down without a fight, that was for sure.

She screamed, and the sound seemed to have the desired effect--the stranger froze, and it gave her enough time to scramble up, her entire attention only on reaching the door he’d left open in his wake. She could see the outside through it--if she got there, she was free.

“Wait!” The man’s face was creased in confusion, and his eyebrows rose almost comically. In fact, watching the series of expressions was almost interesting--Wren had never seen someone with such an openly expressive face. Every thought seemed to cross its deep-set, rugged expanse.

Is he simple? Wren thought. She didn’t know if that would help or hurt her situation. So far, nothing seemed to have happened to her, but she didn’t want to stay any longer than necessary to find out. Glancing to her side, she saw she was next to a low-banked fireplace...and right by her hand was a cast-iron skillet. Grabbing it, she held it out in front of her like a sword.

To her surprise, the man actually took a step back, his green eyes widening.

“I don’t know what’s going on here, but I’m leaving. Don’t follow me.”

Slowly, she crept her way along the floor, her eyes firmly held on the stranger, whose face was now comically torn between concern and confusion.

“Listen, I didn’t mean--”

“Nope. Don’t say anything.”

“But I--”

“Shoosh.”

“You really should just--”

“You have the wrong girl, buddy.”

At last, Wren reached the door he had come in through, and risking a look back at it, saw that it wasn’t locked. She brandished the skillet at him once more, then tossed it on a nearby table and swiftly turned, slipping through as quickly as her still-wobbly legs would carry her.

Finally! Freedom!

Outside, bright noon-time sun was filtered through a thick layer of forest vegetation, and Wren realized with a start that she was in the middle of the woods. Her stomach, still in a bad way, tied itself into further knots. She could be almost anywhere, although the Dark Forest seemed the most likely answer. Now, from outside the hut, she could see that it was indeed built into the roots of the nearby trees, and a newer addition looked like it had been added onto the original one-room home haphazardly. Maybe by magic? It honestly did not look architecturally sound.

Here in the yard there seemed to be a host of various animals roaming, cultivated in a miniature forest farm--chickens pecked the ground around Wren’s feet, and she had to jump back to avoid one that was aiming for her toes.

Now even chickens are trying to get me? Could I catch a break for one freaking second?!

Wren sucked in a deep breath, trying to center herself, her eyes nervously trained on the door. She could vaguely tell which way the sun had risen from, which meant she knew which way Vesuvia was. You didn’t learn nothing about wayfinding growing up on a ship, after all. Her house sat beyond the Vesuvian walls to the west of South End, which was the complete opposite of town from the Dark Forest. Great. She was tired before she even started, but with a groan, Wren set off into the woods.

She hated the woods. They were full of bugs and dirt and rocks and...nature. Honestly, nothing good came out of the woods, of that she was sure. Still, the fresh air was nice for her queasy hangover stomach, and it seemed to jog awake her half-asleep brain at last as the adrenaline faded away. She had time to think about that man, who had seemed vaguely familiar, although she was sure they’d never met before…

And then something from her dream-that-wasn’t-a-dream dawned on her. Falling, and strong arms catching her like a doll from thin air. It certainly could have been him...he looked like he probably snapped tree trunks over his knees for fun. Arms strapped with muscle every which-way. At the time, trapped in a room with him, that had been unsettling, but now…

Wren coughed, shaking away the thought. His outfit, on the other hand, was an absolute tragedy. With that build, she thought, there were a few styles she could imagine that would better suit--

My sketchbook!

With absolute horror, Wren realized she no longer had possession of her sketches, even as her hands patted her down to be sure. Had they been left behind in South End? Or were they… She turned to look back over her shoulder, where the hut had already vanished, but a faint puff of smoke from the chimney still gave away its location.

I can’t go back there for my sketchbook. That’s crazy. That man could be an axe-murderer you surprised before he had time to murder you.

But...that book had all of my most recent designs. A month of work, gone. I’ll never remember all the details exactly as they were. I don’t want to have to start them from scratch again…

After a brief mental struggle, Wren finally turned on her heels with a sigh, begrudgingly headed back in the direction she came.

There was still no sign of anyone when Wren quietly snuck back into the clearing, chewing her thumbnail as she thought about how to proceed. The man hadn’t actually done anything to her...maybe if she just...asked him about the sketchbook, he would answer her? It was so crazy, it just might work. So, sucking up her courage and trying to pull her flyaway mane of hair from her face, Wren stomped across the grounds and back to the door of the hut.

Just as she was wondering whether or not to knock, it swung open, revealing the stranger again. They blinked at each other, unsure who was the more surprised.

“You!” he began, obvious surprise in his tone. It was startlingly loud--did he ever just say anything without shouting?

Wren glanced around, wishing she had brought the skillet with her. Instead, she bent down and grabbed the best thing she could find--which happened to be a nearby roosting chicken, who clucked indignantly in her grasp.

It was probably a poor choice of weapon, she thought, but hoped it might at least stop him from attacking her outright. What she hadn’t expected was this tree-trunk of a man to suddenly look so panicked and fretful.

“Wait wait! Just...wait!”

“You. I don’t know who you are, or what I’m doing here, but if you don’t want this...chicken...harmed…”

“No, not Mr. Cluckers!”

“...” Wren blinked, then shook her head. “...Yes, if you don’t want Mr. Cluckers harmed, then listen to me and answer my question. Do you have my sketchbook?!”

“Your what? Be careful with her, she’s old!”

Mr. Cluckers let out another string of cries from under Wren’s arm.

“Why did you name your chicken Mr. Cluckers if it’s a girl chicken??”

“We never name them, my dad does!”

“That’s not--okay, whatever, that doesn’t matter. My sketchbook! Do you have it?”

The man stood with his arms raised, large hands that looked like they were more callous than skin, and Wren couldn’t help being struck by the absurdity of this situation. He was actually, really and truly scared for the chicken, and it was beginning to make her feel bad as he struggled to think around his fear.

“I...maybe? Was that all those papers you had? Yeah, I have them in the house! I made you breakfast! Can we just...could we talk about this?”

After a tense moment where Wren looked between the man and Mr. Cluckers, she finally let out a huge sigh, holding the chicken in both hands and tossing it out into the yard, where it flapped its wings and came to an awkward landing amongst its fellows. Visibly, the large stranger relaxed, wiping the sweat off his forehead and running a hand over his short brown hair.

“Fine. Talk.” Wren ground out grumpily.

He opened his mouth. Instead, an extremely loud grumble practically rattled the leaves on the trees around them, and Wren felt her face flame as she realized the sound had come from her stomach. She closed her eyes and grimaced. Was there a chance that the Dark Forest would swallow her whole? At this point, she wasn’t even sure why she was worried about what this man might do to her--her entire life was nothing but a string of misery and embarrassment, anyway.

When she opened her eyes, to her surprise, he was grinning, and it made him seem more youthful, somehow. In fact, despite his hulking size, she would have almost wagered he wasn’t too much older than her--maybe Felix’s age.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come in? I made eggs,” he said, gesturing towards the door and holding it open.

With a flick of her messy braid and a loud ‘harrumph’, Wren stomped past him and entered the hut again, avoiding his mirthful eyes.

Well, she was hungry, anyway. A few more minutes couldn’t hurt.

#fanfiction #fanart #the arcana game next generation #my art #my writing #Kiwren #Kiran #Wren #Wren Devorak #my oc #other people's ocs #fanwriting #chapter 2 #long post

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fortitudinem · 4 years ago

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LIVING CONDITIONS - BEFORE THE BARRIER DROPS

The living conditions on the Isle are pretty awful (understatement). The cloud overhead is mostly made up of smog, created by the residents burning trash on open fires in an effort to stay warm, or for something to cook on and water vapour. The barrier means these things cannot escape. This gives the air a hazy quality to it. It smells like smoke and burning garbage, if near the water the smell of drying seaweed and rotting wood also accompanies this. The higher up you are, the worse the air quality, which is one of many reasons no-one really attempts to bypass the mountains in the south of the Isle, the other reason being that it's where the evil-but-sentient-animals are. The cloud cover means that on a dull day it's hard to tell exactly what time of day it is. Sunlight never makes it through the cloud.

The streets are brightly coloured. Any spare paint that is brought over from Auradon is quickly repurposed to colour the exteriors of buildings. However, there are piles of trash, twisted scrap metal, broken boxes and other 'unusable' trash that have been left in alleyways. The streets and pavements themselves are dirty. Litter and graffiti are everywhere. Any paint is peeling, windows are broken or non-existent, rooves are leaky, buildings are dangerous, bordering on condemned.

Housing comes in different styles. Those without homes will live communally, sleeping in any public building they can find, or outside if it's warm. Weaker residents live in shacks made from wood and corrugated metal. These are often single rooms for an entire family. Tougher residents, or those with methods of defence live in terraced housing or apartment blocks, where they have access to an entire home or apartment, but they are in charge of defending it themselves and/or stopping other people moving in or robbing them. Important villains and people who have made a name for themselves can have their own individual housing. Some of these are villain lairs that have been transported to the Isle to keep them from being an eyesore in Auradon (Hell Hall etc.) and some are self-made (Ursula's chip shop having been placed in a natural cave with some wooden walls etc.). A detached, well-furnished house or lair is a sign of power.

Furniture is upcycled at best and falling apart at worst. As far as furniture goes, functional items are hard to come by. Having a couch at all is considered amazing, no matter how broken or lumpy. Tables are often too short, having had their legs sawn down to size to fix a wobbly one, or because one has had to be replaced. Chairs are always mismatched. Plates and cups are often cracked or chipped. Beds are usually just a frame with mismatched wooden slats, or rope strung across it. mattresses are also difficult to come by- any mattress they receive has already been used to the point of falling apart, so often springs need to be removed, or stuffing needs to be put back in. They are always lumpy and sagging, or otherwise broken or uncomfortable. People also make their own, using offcuts from clothing, straw and anything else they can find to pad them out. Bed frames strung through with rope are the most common form of sleeping surface. Most household furniture has been created or fixed on the isle. Nothing comes to the Isle whole.

The includes food. Food, when it comes, is half-eaten, rotting, stale or is otherwise literal trash. It is barely edible. Food is cooked only in restaurants, or over open fires. Most of what gets eaten on the Isle has already been cooked once or can be eaten raw. Almost no-one has a stove in their house and the few that there are are electric or wood burning (though often garbage is used instead of wood) and are reserved solely for businesses whose purpose is to supply food to the masses.

Basic necessities are lacking or non-existent. Lighting has to be cobbled together, the most common form of lighting on the Isle are string lights that used to operate off battery packs but have since been wired into the mains, or paper lanterns and bulbs of coloured glass. Mains electric on the Isle is generated almost exclusively by wind and steam power. Steam power is generated by heating water using burning garbage and produces a high volume of pollution, so it is not used very often, only if there is a severe shortage of alternatives. There is no connection to the Auradonian electrical grid. Most houses on the Isle aren't connected to the mains electricity and do not have electricity at all. Energy is reserved for lighting the Isle at night and funnelling into the businesses that require energy to function and provide a valuable service, such as restaurants. It is an important commodity. Affluent or powerful enough villains can insist on having their houses connected to the electrical grid and it's common for lower class villains to highjack the system and steal power anyway, but ultimately only around 1/3rd of homes on the Isle have access to power.

Even less have access to running water in their homes. There isn't much in the way of fresh, running water on the isle to begin with, what natural water there is is funnelled from the mountains/hills in the south of the isle and collected there. Wells have been dug all over the Isle but proximity to the sea means they must be manually refilled regularly with water from the hills, or rain butts. Often the water goes untreated and residents must boil any water they intend to use for culinary purposes or risk using contaminated water.

Living quarters can be found on almost every suitable surface, especially in the warmer seasons you will find people sleeping on roofs or out in the open and in the cold months, indoor spaces that are usually marketplaces suddenly become packed with beds. Communal living is common and it's not unreasonable in exceptionally cold circumstances to find multiple beds pushed together and lots of people squeezed into them in an effort to keep warm. Personal space is a complex entity on the Isle and having your own separate living space is something only the most affluent and powerful villains are capable of doing, only because they are the only ones capable of scaring other people out of their space, or preventing them from accessing it.

This communal living extends to every aspect of living. Clothes that are not being worn are often taken by someone else. To have multiple outfits is considered a sign of power. Power is also denoted by the materials used (to be expanded on in a future post). Bathrooms are difficult to come by. There are often public baths, which is to say, there are baths with curtains around them in the town square and you can use them if you're brave enough and have a way to get the water there yourself (and can risk being publicly exposed or losing your top layer of clothing). Toilets are often communal too, though without running water, most operate on a bucket flush system, aka you fill a bucket with water from the nearest well and tip it down the toilet to 'flush', and hand washing is difficult to say the least. 'Sinks' are usually simply washbasins, that you can fill yourself or that may already be pre-filled but has also been pre-used. Washing clothes usually takes place in large tubs, or personal ones, with washboards. There are no washing machines on the Isle. Clothes often come out dirtier than they went in. Washing is hung above street level and due to the lack of sun, it usually takes several days to dry completely.

The sewage system is not great, which is why the need for public toilets came about. baths are usually not plumbed into anything and simply empty into the street, but toilets are set up to be connected to a system of pipes that leads to the ocean. It's not the most sanitary of things, but it's all they've got. Everyone avoids the area where it dumps out into the sea. No-one wants to go fishing or swimming near there. No-one would be willing to risk their health like that.

There is a total lack of trained medical care on the Isle. Though there may be a few residents that are trained medical professionals, there are no facilities for them to run safely. Clinics, surgeries and hospitals are virtually non-existent. Some residents have set up make-shift clinics in their homes, but the facilities are poor, there is no safe medical equipment and medicines are difficult to come by. There are occasions where someone in Auradon will throw away out-of-date medication, or won't finish their course of antibiotics etc and these end up on the Isle, but they are usually snapped up quickly. Bandages may be found on the trash barges or cut from fabrics. They are washed more thoroughly than anything else on the Isle, but that doesn't mean much. Most people make their own.

In fact, most residents take care of their own health. An illness (a cold, the flu, food poisoning, anything else) is usually combatted by rest alone (plus water if you have someone to care for you and fetch it for you). A strain or sprain is treated similarly, should the person be able to do so. A bone break is harder to fix and a rudimentary splint can be created, but there are no plaster casts. Walking sticks and crutches can be cobbled together out of wood. Physical wounds are easily the most dangerous injury. They need to be cleaned with alcohol, or in extreme cases fire. Stitches are generally avoided if possible, as making items sterile is difficult. If necessary, stitches are done with thread or, in a worst case scenario, dental floss. If painkillers must be taken, they are most likely to be self-prescribed. Alcohol is the most common. Natural bark can be used, despite the lack of flowering plants on the Isle and there are some opiate-like painkillers that the Heart family have been able to produce, but these are expensive and saved for those able to afford it.

The Isle is an extremely dangerous place to get an injury. But they're also pretty common. Any injury that would require surgery to fix is pretty much beyond what the Isle can offer. Limbs can be removed if gangrenous or otherwise infected, but that is the surgical limit unless you know where to go and can afford to pay. There may be a black-market surgeon or two on the Isle. A first-aid class is taught in schools to all the VKs.

There is a lack of education on the Isle, many residents are incapable of reading or writing at an adult level and most are unable to perform basic mathematic functions. Books are rare and when they do show up they are usually waterlogged, wrecked or immediately taken to Dr Facilier's library. Having a collection of books and being able to read is a sign of importance. Math is considered less important than reading. The system on the Isle is lacking in almost every area.

Originally there was only one school, but as more children were born, more schools started to open. Dragon Hall first and then Serpent Prep and the Witch Academy. Classes are taught on how to be as villainous as possible, but there is an element of survival included too. Skills like thievery and dark magic (theoretical only) are more highly prized than basic knowledge of math/english/science etc. Some children don't go to school at all, some are home schooled and some attend actual school- but even these classes are lacking. It is expected for students to turn up late and not partake in lessons or do their homework. Even children enrolled at school sometimes don't show up for class either because they don't want to, or because they have duties elsewhere. Most children above a certain age are expected to be in some manner of employment by or for their families.

The age a child is expected to work varies between households, but it is usually under the age of ten and by the time they are teenagers they are being given more complex, demanding jobs and/or being made to do backbreaking physical labour that the older villains can't or don't want to do. (I'll do a post about common jobs on the Isle in the future).

Mental health on the Isle is awful, never seeing the sun combined with all the other factors has led to depression being very common amongst all Isle residents. Though the adults are more likely to succumb to it and retreat into themselves and into their homes and stop interacting with the world, or to get angry with their children and raise a hand against them. With the lack of books, however, knowledge on the subject is rudimentary and basic. There is no real treatment for it.

While many residents are proud to be Villains or Villain Kids, no-one is proud of the Isle itself. The conditions are too awful. No-one feels like they really own anything so there's nothing for them to be proud of. But for a lot of them, it's still the only home they've ever known, so they're not going to be willing to abandon it in a hurry.

#ABOUT | THE ISLE OF THE LOST.#long post under the cut #a lot of this stuff is going to get its own longer post in the future #but here's a basic overview

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cyb-by-lang · 5 years ago

Text

Cosmic Escape Velocity

Did a little bit of writing in the whole YYH situation thing! It’s silly. It also takes place during Hell Year in its own branch timeline.

Kei.

Yeah?

I suspect your personal fate and fortune may be… Isobu paused, clearly trying to come up with a single word that would sum up the disaster of Kei’s life. All of his tails swayed uncertainly in her mind.

Unlikely? Hilariously broken? Kei’s suggestions, as always, went over like a fleet of lead balloons. She didn’t react at all when Isobu mentally swatted at her with those tails in irritation, keeping her hands behind her back in perfect parade rest.

We are standing in the office of a thousand-year-old spiritual being that has a pacifier in his mouth, said Isobu, angling his palms as far up as they’d go without breaking his not-at-all-physical shell. He just didn’t have the limb rotation range. I am not sure there is a way to sum up this latest catastrophe without stretching the language.

Kei shifted her weight from her right foot to her left. I mean, there’s nothing wrong with just screaming.

I do not scream, Isobu huffed.

Too much dignity?

Not enough lung.

It was Kei’s turn to roll her eyes as subtly as she could.

“Are you even listening?” asked the baby, standing up in his chair to loom as far as he could over the top of his desk. The two mountains of paperwork to each side of him did not care, and in fact made him look even smaller. Despite the added weight of his spiritual energy—not chakra, as had been specified a few minutes ago—Kei didn’t take him much more seriously.

Look, she had the equivalent of a nuclear reactor implanted in her chest through spiritual surgery. There was only so much comparison to make.

Still, what Kei actually said was, “Of course, Koenma-sama. Sorry for the interruption.”

The baby sat back in his chair, frowning around his pacifier. “Then as I was saying, I can’t send you back to your starting point.” As Kei’s hopes for a quick resolution took a dive, he went on, “Going by your spiritual signature, you arrived from a world that has a different wave pattern from our own. Forcing your way through during convergence must have cost tremendous amounts of energy—”

Well, it wasn’t like I passed out in a bush on purpose, Kei thought despairingly, silently cursing her circumstances for the umpteenth time. Koenma’s attendants had picked her up, dusted her off, and plopped her in front of their boss with barely any time to react.

“—but once the intersection period passes, that cost skyrockets. By a factor of a hundred.” Koenma laced his pudgy baby fingers together as far in front of his face as they’d reach, a contemplative look crossing his expression as he observed her. “How well do you understand the concept of a leyline?”

Kei considered. Then she unfolded her arms and brought her hand to her chin, to facilitate her thinking. It was probably a placebo effect, but it made her feel better. “I don’t know if you’re going for the ‘weak point in reality’ or the ‘source of magic’ version, but I think I get the basic idea.”

She’d only read enough fantasy novels to fill her entire brain with tropes.

Koenma stared at her with his eyes narrowed almost to slits, as though trying to decide if she was being facetious or not. “Well, you must have found a leyline from your home world at the exact moment the waveforms met. And whether you knew it would happen or not, using any kind of spiritual energy near something that volatile has…consequences.”

Of the wormhole kind, Kei thought.

Your luck is atrocious.

“But this is no time to give up hope,” Koenma said firmly, wagging one finger. “Your world’s wavelength is appreciably short by human standards! The best time for sending you home could be anywhere in the next year to the next four. It’s certainly better than the half-century for some worlds. Some others haven’t come back in my entire lifetime!”

Kei shot a mental glare at Isobu. You were saying?

I stand corrected. It is worse.

Kei took a careful, meditative breath to steel her nerves. No time for freaking out. She could have her moment of wordless panic when she could find a corner to cry in without being observed. Even the emotional deadening of the last few months couldn’t stand up to this. “I see.”

Koenma’s face scrunched into a frown. If it was ever going to be less strange hearing fully-formed sentence coming out of that face, Kei didn’t imagine it’d be any time soon. Then: “In the meantime, would you like to have a job?”

Kei’s thoughts screeched to a halt. “I’m sorry?”

“It’s not the same as a solution; just a stopgap,” Koenma explained patiently. “But if I understand humans, it’s better to have something to keep your hands busy than to sit around in despair until a miracle falls into your lap.”

“What kind of job?” Kei asked, careful to keep the suspicion from seeping into her voice. She’d had more than enough contracts go bad in the midst of her long deployment to learn a little caution. Sensei filtered what he could, but now Kei was out of his reach.

And she hadn’t said no, so Koenma leaned forward in his seat with full lecture mode engaged. “I have a new spirit detective—a boy a few years younger than you—undergoing training to improve his combat skills. But while he’s busy getting whipped into shape, I don’t have anyone to handle his workload.” Koenma’s half-hidden eyes gleamed. “Are you interested?”

“What does the job entail?” Kei asked, as most of her sense of humor dropped right out of her body. Even if she didn’t know where she was, some things never changed. It wouldn’t be her first time being hired halfway through a contract, though it was always at Sensei’s discretion. There had to be a reason why a person whose agents had found her in a bush under a purple sky, in the land of the dead, thought she would be useful for his purposes.

Koenma replied, “In your case, it mostly means completing any minor missions he can’t. Stamping out trouble caused by apparitions of all kinds, but especially demons. Your duties will change after he returns.”

Something in the back of Kei’s head started itching, like a thought she’d forgotten sometime over the last seventeen years. The blanket of emotional exhaustion was too thick to avoid smothering it.

I will look for it.

Thanks.

Kei’s gaze roved slowly around the room, from the stacks of paperwork to the employer offering her busy work. “Let me read and edit the contract before I sign anything. I’d also like any reference material you have on apparitions, and maybe an assistant if you have one to spare.”

Something in Koenma’s expression softened, at least as far as Kei could tell. Babies did not have terribly suitable faces for adult emotions. “I’ll send for Ayame-san. She’ll also be your contact if you do decide to take me up on this offer.”

“Thank you, Koenma-sama,” Kei said, because it didn’t hurt to be polite to a god who administered the afterlife. Sure, Kei was a little corporeal to be a resident, but that could always change.

Kei barely paid attention as the oni attendants bustled around the pastel office and eventually escorted her out into a waiting room. While blue- or red-skinned humanoids registered as unusual, the sheer number of them running around like headless chickens cut down on the unfamiliarity quickly. They were just barely clambering up the slope on the uncanny valley in their tiger-skin loincloths, and most of them ignored her presence entirely.

I wonder if that is a self-preservation instinct.

If any of them can tell you’re here, it is. Kei, sitting in an armchair no more comfortable than those plastic abominations in a waiting room at a hospital, mostly let the world pass her by. Do you think anyone’s realized we’re gone?

I doubt the nearest jōnin has, Isobu muttered resentfully. Then, more thoughtfully, he said, The crane might have.

Kei’s hand shot to her mouth before she’d even articulated her thoughts. Using her kunai would be more sanitary, but hell, she was in the land of the dead. She bit down on her knuckle with one canine, drawing blood for the contract. Then her hands flew through the hand signs with barely enough time to name them: Boar, Dog, Bird, Monkey, Ram.

For a split second after she slammed her hand into the nearby coffee table, Kei’s nerves jangled with fear. What if this doesn’t work? What if I do this wrong and Tsuruya gets hurt—

Chakra-derived ink spread across the wood in a familiar pattern. Sure, the drain behind the technique was an order of magnitude higher than anything she’d expected. And sure, that usually meant bad things, and she was probably breaking several interworld rules in one fell swoop.

But Kei didn’t care.

Because, amid the sudden burst of white chakra smoke and the terrified screaming of oni office workers, she heard a familiar voice say, “Keisuke-sama? Did you call for me?”

Tsuruya beat her wings once, sending paperwork flying through the air along with the rapidly dissipating smoke, much to the dismay of the oni audience as the flailed after their disrupted files. Once she could see, she jerked her dark head to see Kei better with one eye, then the other. Then she folded her huge wings against her sides and bowed low.

Kei launched herself out of the chair and hugged Tsuruya’s three-meter bulk with enough force that her crane companion let out a startled honking noise.

“I missed you too,” Tsuruya said once she regained her balance, dropping her beak to rest against Kei’s back. Her wing looped around Kei, shielding them both with metal-edged feathers. “Though if you do not mind my asking, where are we?”

Kei said, “Probably the afterlife?” but was so muffled by her summoned friend’s feathers that she didn’t get a response.

“My apologies, but I do not think I caught what you said,” Tsuruya said. When this, too, failed to incite an audible response, Tsuruya changed tactics.

“Ow!”

By hitting Kei in the head with her beak, just like old times.

It was at this point in Tsuruya’s fussing that they were interrupted by a polite cough. Kei kept one arm slung around Tsuruya’s neck as the two of them turned to face the interloper.

A dark-haired woman stood amid the chaos of the oni attendants’ panic, expression placid. She wore a black kimono and carried a centimeter-thick stack of paper bound neatly with gold thread, along with an oar strapped to her back.

She bowed.

“Can I help you…?” Kei prompted, after managing a half-assed bow despite her stance.

“Ayame, Gekkō-san. I have your contract.” When she straightened, Ayame added, “If you’ll come this way, there is a side room where we can discuss terms in private.”

“Are you helping represent my interest or those of the spirit world?” Kei kept the obligatory lawyer joke tucked well inside her skull.

“I only want to help both parties come to a compromise.”

Well, that was helpful. “Thank you, Ayame-san. Please lead the way.”

-----

An hour later, Koenma received the modified contract and began to read it, while Tsuruya, Kei, and Ayame all stood around. Of the three, only Ayame seemed perfectly in place.

Ten minutes after that, the oni outside his office were startled to hear a cry of “How many thousand yen per month?!”

Kei stared down his fury with patience born of entirely too long spent alone and nail-biting desperation. “I’m still human. I’ll need to pay rent, buy food, and obtain supplies while living in whichever city I need to cover. And I know what my expertise is worth.”

Koenma gaped at her for a moment longer, only avoiding the goldfish impression by dint of his pacifier, then glared down at the contact. As he perused it with increasing fervor, he muttered under his breath.

Kei caught the words “unbelievable” and “never in my life” and “not made of money.”

Over Koenma’s shoulder, Ayame smiled faintly.

“FINE!” Koenma burst out at last, throwing down his fountain pen in defeat after almost fifteen minutes of desperate rereading. “It’s legally sound, and you have a point about living world expenses. But when the call comes, you need to be ready to fight! Is that clear?”

Kei bowed in full shinobi style, dropping to one knee with her head angled toward the floor. Koenma didn’t need to know she was hiding a smile for, however tangentially, managing to frustrate a god. “Of course, Koenma-sama.”

Oh, he may regret that.

“Then get out of my office! Ayame, show her how to get everything organized so she can start as soon as possible!”

Ayame swept Kei and Tsuruya out of the room amid the god-child’s impending tantrum. While Kei sat sidesaddle on Ayame’s oar as they took flight, Tsuruya pumped her huge wings and trailed in their slipstream with deceptive ease.

“I look forward to working with you, Ayame-san,” Kei said, though even she wasn’t sure how sincere she was. “Please take care of me.”

Still, Ayame replied, “Like one of our own, Keisuke-san.”

It wasn’t until they’d landed in some human city that Kei realized, however belatedly, that she’d never told anyone her name. And that to be in the spirit world meant she’d been separated from her real body. Which was, of course, also lying in a bush.

All she could say to that, once she was again on her own two feet, was, “Well, that figures.”

Dead twice she could remember, and all she got out of it was a job.

#catch your breath fanfic #crossover #yuyu hakusho #keisuke gekko #isobu #tsuruya #koenma #cosmic escape velocity

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chilling-seavey · 5 years ago

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Passchendaele - II

A/N I was too excited to keep to my plans for a Monday post schedule... Christian Seavey himself was no help with my plan to wait a week either...

The scenery didn’t change even as they approached the trenches, the bright green grass only turning to dark soil as the land dipped into the tunnels of the trenches, trees disappearing as the field stretched endlessly in front of them. A small town of tents littered the area from where they approached, soldiers eyeing the newly arriving company from their spots at makeshift tables or lazing out on the grass, a few hanging up washed uniforms over clotheslines as they stood in their white undershirts. It looked almost no different than the training camp. Lieutenant Marais hopped out of the truck before it even came to a complete stop, trekking over to the officer on watch along the side of the trenches. D Company fell to a spot to await orders.

“Doesn’t look too bad.” Zach whispered.

Daniel nodded, scanning their surroundings. Soldiers chattered happily together, sharing food rations or stories from home under the springtime sun, one man delivering letters around the camp. Daniel glanced out farther ahead, trying to see any sign of life past the maze of British trenches, but the most he could see was large coils of barbed wire sitting along turned up dirt and mud in the distance, about half a kilometre away from where they stood.

“Alright, men.” Lieutenant Marais shouted, retuning to his spot at the front of the group. “You will be split into sections here, half of you going to help dig eastward and some of you going to help the sanitary team with the latrines.”

“Bloody hell.” Zach gaped. “To hell with this if I have to be arms deep in someone else’s toilet.”

Daniel could hardly stifle his laugher, biting hard on his bottom lip to keep from making any noise in front of the Lieutenant who was now pacing down the side of the line. He stuck his hand right between Daniel and the solider behind him.

“Every man in front is to follow me into the trenches. Every man behind is to report to the sanitation tent immediately. Let’s get to work, gentlemen.”

Daniel and Zach let out equal sighs of relief as they hurried after the rest of their section down into the twisting maze of trenches. The grass turned into dirt as it dipped lower into the Belgian soil, the walls reaching well above their heads as they set foot on the bottom, boots clacking against the wood panels laid out as makeshift flooring. Sandbags kept the walls from caving in, tucked securely against the soil and lined the top of the ridge as protection from enemy fire. A few dug outs in the walls of the trench allowed space for soldiers to rest and sleep when they could. Every man that they walked past seemed to be coated in dust or mud, their tired eyes watching the new arrivals’ every move like they were secretly the enemy. Almost untrusting of the capabilities of the youthful men that walked past them.

The trenches were an organized mess of tunnels, zigzagging through the ground that lasted for miles and Daniel was grateful they had the Lieutenant leading them otherwise he was sure he would get lost. By then, the sun was starting to set over the horizon and cast a warm glow over the dark trenches.

“Are they going to make us work in the dark?” Zach asked quietly from behind Daniel, their section walking single file through the trenches.

“The only way the Germans can’t see us, idiot.” The solider behind him snapped. “Unless you want to be shot with a shovel in your hand.”

Zach fell quickly into silence.

Lieutenant Marais led them to a dead end, the dirt walls wrapping around in front of them into a jagged and unfinished conclusion before turning to face them, “I expect two kilometres of trench by sunrise. Straight east. 2 metres deep and half a mere wide. Your entrenching tools are in your equipment belts. Put them together and get working.”

Daniel jumped to the side as the Lieutenant walked briskly past him and back down the trenches from which they came. He took a deep inhale, reaching down to unclip the shovel head from his crossbody belt and attached it to the short wooden handle. The 8 other soldiers around him got right to work, digging into the soft soil messily and ungracefully over top of each other.

“I was hoping for a good night’s sleep tonight.” Zach grumbled, trudging over to begin work too.

Daniel looked behind him, sensing the eyes of the soil laden soldiers on his back and he hurried to get to work himself. His knees fell easily against the fire step of the original trench, acting as a ledge as he got to work. No one spoke, the nightfall eerily silent except for the sound of their shovels in the dirt and the distant bark of orders from the camp behind the lines. They were merely an hour into work by the time to moon reached the sky, the coolness of the nighttime air seeping under their thick uniforms but was easily washed away by the sweat of their labour. The Lieutenant had left a single flashlight wedged into the dirt walls, leaving only a small pool of light for them to work by.

“What will happen if we don’t finish the two kilometres?” Zach asked softly, the first one to break the silence since they began work.

“I’m too worried to find out.” Daniel whispered, helping another man push the newly turned soil to the edge to pack it down and make a barrier from the front lines.

“Might push you to the Germans as a sacrifice.” Another young man spoke up from a few feet away. The men laughed lightly.

Zach frowned, focussing back on digging.

“Don’t fret about it, boy. We’re just having a laugh.” Another assured him, wedging his shovel in the side of the dirt to lean on it and wipe his brow with his cap before setting back on his messy blonde hair. “Say, how old are you?”

Daniel eyed the two chevrons sewn into the man’s sleeve, indicating his higher rank, and looked back to Zach who was nervously picking away at the trenches.

“Nineteen, sir.” He spoke shakily, without looking up.

“You look small to be nineteen. I’m surprised the recruitment officials let you enlist.”

“My family owns a farm. I’m a good worker.”

“I see.” the sergeant looked at the boy through narrowed eyes, the rest of the men working hard around him, trying to look busy. “But you’re not nineteen.”

Daniel forced himself to avoid eye contact, listening intently to the conversation beside him as he packed down the soil with his bare hands.

“No, sir.” Zach finally whispered. “I’m sixteen. Almost seventeen.”

“Why on God’s green earth would you want to be here instead of warm in your bed, boy?”

“I wanted to fight.” Zach spoke strongly.

The Sergeant sighed heavily, glancing at the men around them who worked with their heads down, before he stepped closer to where Zach stood, offering out his hand, “If you need anything, come to me. Sergeant Besson. You can call me Corbyn. Understand?”

“Yessir.” Zach spoke quickly, returning the Sergeant’s handshake.

“Some of these higher ups are too old to understand the youth’s true patriotism and desire for adventure. They’ll give you a hard time for enlisting despite the age requirement.” Corbyn spoke softly. “This stays within in our section, right, men?”

A chorus of, “Yes, Sergeant” was proof that all 9 other men were listening to the conversation as well. Corbyn smiled softly, giving Zach a friendly slap to the shoulder before heading back to his section to work.

Daniel couldn’t believe it; a sixteen-year-old voluntarily enlisting to fight. Didn’t he want his freedom at home? His last years of childhood? Was he not worried about what was to come for him here? Daniel felt his stomach lurch at the thought of himself at 16 running off to fight. His mother would have never allowed it. To think, he was only three years his senior at that moment too, not much of a difference between them.

Another hour went by in mostly silence, the men of the D Company, Rifle Section making the best of their situation at hand, but work started to slow after a while. It was a long day of travelling and digging in 2 metres of cold soil would not have been their first choice of a job when they arrived at the front lines.

Daniel could feel the sweat dripping down his back under the thick uniform, but the icy soil chilled him to his core, making the perspiration feel like ice water. Dirt stuck under his fingernails and coated his uniform stiffly, his bare hands easily getting blistered and frozen by his tight grip on the wooden shovel. The blistering nighttime air was no help in warming the men up at all, casting a chill like an angel’s frozen breath down their necks.

Sergeant Besson was more than aware of his men’s dwindling energy, watching their determination slow greatly as the cold air stiffened their muscles.

“Listen up, men.” he finally said, stepping up on the embankment to stand higher above them. “Why don’t we split ourselves in half, some of us digging and some can rest. That way we can be more efficient when we switch. How does that sound?”

The men agreed quickly with thankfulness. Daniel and Zach were in the first half to be left to rest and Daniel gladly leaned back against the cold dirt wall and slid to the ground with a huff, looking down at his red raw hands that were stained black with soil. He rubbed them up and down his thighs to try and rid some of the dirt, wincing at the growing blisters on his palms as they rubbed against the rough material of his trousers.

“How long do you think we’ve been doing this?” Zach asked tiredly, closing his eyes lightly as he crossed his arms across his chest.

“At least three hours.” Daniel answered as he pulled the tin out from the inside pocket of his jacket. He set the unfinished letter on his lap before beginning to write again, filling the page with everything he could think of to try and describe what he was doing or what he had seen to Elizabeth back home. It had been a long day, that was for sure. He was just finishing signing his name at the bottom of the letter – making sure to add a little heart at the end – when heavy footsteps came down the wooden planks of the finished trenches. The night left them in shadows as the flashlight was mostly focussed for the workers so the approaching man was hidden from view. The working men were already a bit of a ways off, too focussed on their digging to hear the incoming man. Daniel kicked Zach’s boot with his own, waking him with a start and getting him to get back to work quickly, as he rushed to slide his letter back into the tin and into his jacket again. His cold hands made maneuvering the metal difficult and before he knew it, the shadow of the man’s broad figure was above him.

“On your feet, private.” his dark voice demanded.

Daniel scrambled to his feet, almost tripping in the process as he adjusted his cap on his head and then offered a stiff salute to the taller man, his eyes focused on the soft light from the single flashlight glinting off the gold star under the crown fastened onto his epaulets. The Lieutenant Colonel. Commander of their entire battalion. Daniel knew the ranks well from training, not wanting to mess up the stature of his commanders; although it seemed he already did on the very first night.

“Why are you lazing about writing love letters while your team works hard for this army? Do you not care about your country, private?”

His words were dripping in disappointment, echoing off the cold trenches with demand to be heard, and to humiliate anyone who dare challenge his rank. Daniel stared wide eyed at the officer’s chest, unmoving.

“Answer when spoken to, Private.” the man boomed, grabbing Daniel’s arm, forcing him to look up into the face of his commander.

The face of his brother.

“Yes, I do, sir. Sorry, sir.” Daniel swallowed thickly, keeping his wide eyes on the same ones that were staring back at him.

The Lieutenant Colonel eyed the newest arrival silently, dropping his tight grip on his sleeve and Daniel stumbled a little before quickly regaining his composure,

“Christian-”

“It’s Lieutenant Colonel Seavey to you, Private.” his brother’s voice was dark and drained of emotion and he stared down at his younger brother like he was nothing more than a stranger.

“It’s Daniel. Your brother.” Daniel nearly begged, reaching out to him, desperate for the touch of his brother he hadn’t seen in nearly two years, or had any word from in nearly five months.

Christian’s dark eyes were no longer the brilliant blue Daniel remembered; they were dark and near lifeless, his wide smile down to a pulled tight line of a scowl. The silence between them was almost as cold as the nighttime air and Daniel felt suffocated by it, tugging a little at his collar.

“Get back to work, Private Seavey, before you’re sent to a job you won’t make it back from.” Christian said sharply, giving Daniel a shove backwards by a hand to his chest, making the nineteen-year-old fall onto his back against the hard ground. He watched with wide eyes as the form of his big brother returned to the darkness of the trenches, melting into the blackness that surrounded them.

#daniel seavey #christian seavey #wdw #why dont we #wdw fanfic #ww1 #ww1!wdw #historical fiction #daniel seavey fanfic #limelight #jonah marais #zach herron #jack avery #corbyn besson #daniel seavey imagines #writing #✉

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