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punemy-spotted · 3 years ago

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Of Blackbirds and Barons: Chapter 1

Chapter 1: You Make The Rain Fall Harder

Relationships: Mob!Helmut Zemo x Reader; CEO!Billy Russo x Reader; Mob!Helmut Zemo x Reader x CEO!Billy Russo

Warnings: Non-con/Dub-con; Dark!Fic; Mob and Mafia Elements; Character Death (Minor and Major); Threesome; Possessive/Obsessive Characters; Blackmail/Coercion; Kidnapping; Mentions of War; Human Rights Violations; Contract Killing; Mafia AU; Possible Dead Dove: Would Not Eat; Complete Disregard for Actual Rules of Journalism and Style Guides; Other Chapter-Specific Warnings May Apply

Chapter Specific Warnings: Non-con; Drugging/Date-Rape; Fingering (F-Receiving); Vaginal Sex; Unprotected Sex; Possible Breeding Kink; Kidnapping; Obsessive/Possessive Zemo; Dark!Zemo; Human Rights Violations; Discussion of Destruction of Novi Grad and Sokovia; Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

Chapter Summary: The problem with having sympathy for the Devil is that he will drag you down to Hell regardless.

Author’s Notes: Another series! Because I can’t get enough of Mob!AUs! Zemo makes his dark entrance. And this IS dark, so read at your own discretion. As always, all of my work is 18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Masterlist

The long tradition of the Duchy of Sokovia, that which once stood the test of time against the Tsars of Russia, began to crumble long before its borders did, its sweeping architecture and decadent mystery giving way to the sharp lines of Brutalism and the characteristic industrialism of the Eastern Bloc. Still, the Sokovian people managed to maintain their identity in the face of a new kind of empire, bringing greenery and art to a brisk, concrete world.

There is no Sokovia now, not the way one would think, but there are still Sokovians scattered around the world, clinging to the traditions of their once-home and searching for a banner to be united under.

A banner carried by a man like Helmut Zemo.

The caret blinks back at you with a mocking sort of finality, a metronome counting down the seconds to your ultimate frustration. Once. Twice. Thrice — you lose count, staring at the screen until your vision crosses and the words blur together, until only his name remains.

Zemo.

Baron Helmut Zemo.

Your notes are expansive, excessive, papers strewn about you and you look at each scribbled anecdote, each carefully dictated word, each photograph you have annotated until it is more red marker than actual picture and you are… frustrated.

Where do you put all that passion? He asked you over champagne and charcuterie.

You know this man.

You know this man like you know your own soul. You know this man who has bared his soul to you in turn and how are you supposed to impress upon the world that he has shown you the broken heart beating slow and painful in his chest in just a thousand words?

There is nothing. Nothing you can do, nothing you can saywhich could even begin to encompass the horrors which he has experienced and now as you painstakingly tap out word after word describing the grand beauty of his apartment, you wonder if this really was what your life was meant to be.

These are… fluff.

This is a man who has managed to unite an entire fractured country under his royal banner and yet the project wants to know about the indoor garden of his apartment, wants to photograph him in fine suits and know his haircare routine and this can’t be it. This can’t be the face of the man you see everywhere now, moreso since you picked up the assignment, purple-masked and surrounded by brass wings, over the homes of Sokovians all over New York.

And not just there.

I am a man, he told you with his hand on your thigh, But I can become an idea. And an idea is immortal.

You let your eyes skim over the photographs you took, a collection of banners and graffiti and billboards all proclaiming the need for the Sokovian people to come together and heal. To show that their small country — broken and divided in the wake of an attack by a rich megalomaniac’s private military — could not be taken down simply because its borders had been erased and its capitol turned to rubble.

We live in an age of information, and through information we are boundless.

It should terrify you.

It does terrify you.

But inside of that terror is a sick fascination with the man, isn’t there? That’s the trouble with you investigative types — peel back the layers enough and you find yourself capable of feeling sympathy for anyone.

He flaunts his power, and yet it’s innocent. Is it so wrong, then, to want to bring my country back to its glory?

No, you remember answering shakily, but not as well as you remember the pinpricks of heat his fingers left on your skin when that gloved hand brushed over you arm.

Breathe deep, hover fingers over your keyboard and try not to feel like you owe him the weight of the world. He approved of this, even suggested a word count and a topic of conversation — any chance to put his name out into the consciousness of the public, it seemed, to raise interest for the gallery by raising interest for the cause. Make it indulgent. My people, they enjoy art. They enjoy knowing that their leaders have preserved the past for them.

So do it.

… Baron Zemo’s New York penthouse is its own garden amongst a sea of steel and stone, a veritable museum of priceless artworks rescued from what remained of Sokovian museums and ministry buildings. It is, in its own way, an ode to the spirit of Sokovia, which lives on in the hearts and minds of its people around the world. He displays artworks of the many displaced Sokovians, gesturing broadly to a 3D model of an art gallery he intends to have built near the memorial at Novi Grad — with the consent of the Slovakian government — and speaking fondly of his intention to showcase the lost art of Sokovia as a reminder that loss of land cannot be the loss of an identity…

The artworks, they will be painful at first. But the gallery will showcase more and more, and eventually we will have hope.

He waves a gloved hand over the pieces he has preserved. Sokovian history. Scenic expanses, fields and flowers, a city skyline dotted with domed cathedrals. Each painting marred some way too, you can see when you look close. Patched canvas, the dusting of ash and rubble in the corner of an ornate frame, a trick of the light revealing repainting to cover up damage.

A stone hoof sits on a bookshelf, The attached horse and rider blown to rubble in the attack. I’m told it was of Emperor Ferdinand, but my archivists have not been able to confirm, he tells you as he stands behind you, his hand resting soft on the small of your back.

Come. There is more to be seen.

More to be experienced.

His living room is a garden.

It smells like fresh jasmine the moment you walk in, ivy climbing the walls and you swear you can hear birdsong from more than the pigeons cooing outside. Flower arrangement is an often looked down upon art, but the gardens in Sokovia were impeccable. My father won several awards for his pieces before his…

He trails off and you watch him, seeing the pain paint his face as openly as if he meant for you to watch the facade crack and then back to that placid, pleasant calm, a serpentine smile on his face as he extends to you a hand and guides you to the open air of his balcony and bids you Sitbids you Enjoy bids you I have looked forward to his meeting.

It is a pleasure to meet you, Baron Zemo, you begin politely, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear and trying to avoid the way his eyes follow your fingers, feeling seen, We’re grateful for the honor of your patronage for this piece, we know you could have —

Nonsense, he cuts you off with a wave of his hand, gesturing to his butler and then leaning back comfortably in his seat as champagne and various cheeses are brought forth, You are my guest, and I am grateful you agreed to come meet me here, to assist with my… project. Now. Please, enjoy, I do not want to treat this as strictly business.

Is that why he had you come alone?

Don’t.

Don’t dwell on it.

It happens all the time, right? It has to.

A somewhat reclusive man, not keen to be in the limelight, in need of public attention to achieve his goals — you are a means to an end and he is your means to an end, surely you can understand.

Is that why he wipes the honey from your lips and kisses it off his fingers?

This is going to be a difficult conversation and you know it. You can only gush over houseplants and rose décor for so long before it becomes… trite, before you’re a part of the problem, painting a shining veneer over a half-decade old injustice

But he is warm, warm and friendly and you cannot help but laugh to his response when you draw attention to the architecture to draw attention from your blush — Very modern, yes. We are in New York, after all, and the old ways are fine for country houses but not so fine, for sunny penthouse apartments —not noticing the way he looks like he’s just smelled blood at the sound of it, the narrowing of his eyes and the hiding of his inscrutable expression behind a sip of champagne.

Well then. Shall we get started?

Of course.

Why don’t we start with your plans for opening night?Your notepad is out, the recorder sitting in front of you to pick up the sound of your voice and his, ready to commit everything to memory.

Of course. We cannot deny the… elephant in the room, I think you Americans call it. There are many who took pictures of the aftermath of the attack, and not enough who have seen it immortalized…

… The tragedy of Novi Grad and the consequential absorption of Sokovia into its surrounding countries weighs heavy in the Baron’s living room, draped in ivy and jasmine and hanging vines but also in photographs of what was left after a private military corporation chose to turn human lives into a war game.

No one knows who Ultron is, only that he is dangerous, that his technology rivals that of the SHIELD Syndicate’s Tony Stark, that he is willing to ally himself to the highest bidder, and that he is fully capable of unleashing endless destruction upon the world…

You will never forget the photographs he shows you, all that death and destruction in the golden light of his balcony, all that warmth and all you can see is cold bodies bathed in concrete dust.

They call to you, when you close your eyes — answer for our crimes — and you remember the way his voice changes too, so soft and solemn, the brush of fingers against yours when you touch the bombed out shell of a country mansion My home, in Sokovia, to the gray-and-blood horror which forms the centerpiece of his display, and you remember your research too, that the Baron is a widow, that his title is inherited from the most tragic of circumstances, that his son was an innocent lost in the attack and you are furious too, at the senselessness of it all.

It is a tragedy yet unanswered for, more than half a decade since the dust settled.

That quote sits front and center on your mock-up, wondering if you could make whatever editor who would inevitably rip this piece to shreds — just before publishing its corpse alongside some glamour picture of the Baron his coat — finally see the error of ignoring the tragedy. You won’t, but it’s worth a shot, as you lean back in your chair and stare at the screen again.

Sometimes you think about it.

Watching Novi Grad happen from the comfort and safety of your living room, wrapped in blankets as open war broke out in the capital city of what had once been a crown jewel in an ancient dynasty. A playground, a show of force.

Sometimes you hear the screams.

The blinking carat waits for you to add more to this story, to decide where you want to go.

… The Baron plays a game with his interview, insists on knowing his guests just as we insist on getting to know the enigmatic leader who has risen up a beacon for the displaced people of his homeland. We will not be recreating our answers in this article, as they were of course of a personal nature, but we do thank the Baron for taking the time to get to know us just as he bared his soul, his sorrows, and his hopes to a gaggle of strangers seeking to make him known to the world…

Tell me of you, sweetling.

Me? This interview is about you.

And so I must tell all my secrets for free? No, I insist. A secret for a secret.

He watches you with a hunger, coal-black eyes an invitation. Slide your gaze away or fall and who knows what depths he will drag you into and what you will find there?

No.

Don’t look, don’t look as you sip the tea Oeznik brought when you politely declined the champagne — Another time, probably — and let it brace you with its bitterness, let it clear your head.

Breathe.

You’re in too deep now, trapped in this cave of wonders… and wouldn’t it be worth it? Know him as he knows you, follow the trajectory of the smiling man before you.

What would you like to know?

Tell me how you taste his eyes whisper.

Tell me what it would take says the curve of his fingers over your hand.

Let me put you on display hums the razor-blade of his smile.

Tell me what drives a woman to take on such a … dangerous line of work, is the final inquiry, innocent and curious and gentle and you sip your tea and smile.

Is it dangerous?

You must know how many secrets you uncover — and the lengths the keepers will go to in order to hide them.

If people get hurt, shouldn’t I bring that to light?

How noble of you, he tells you with another hum, with his fingers squeezing yours, with his eyes fixed on the gaze you refuse to send his way, It must be quite thrilling.

Let me thrill you too, sweetling.

Pull away.

Do it.

Pull your hand away, make an act of it, pick up a candied strawberry and press it past your lips, let the sweetness soak your tongue and wash away the bitter thoughts, let yourself be bright and chipper and pretend you are not afraid.

Because you’re not.

Of course you’re not.

You are in control here, you must be in control here.

This is nothing. This is a casual interview with a handsome man in his handsome penthouse, an interview about architecture and art galleries and you were a correspondent once and you are meant to be friendly here, not afraid, so what are you afraid of?

What is it about his coal-dark eyes and too-sharp smile that turns your blood, that sends you back into your hutch, little rabbit, what is it about the way he prowls at the corner of your thoughts that makes you shudder so?

What are you running from?

Who are you running from?

Your turn, sweetling.

Mmh?

Our deal, or have you forgotten already?

Yes. You have.

It’s his eyes, you keep insisting to yourself. They drag you in, so dark it feels like you’re drowning in the void of them, searching for the light at the end of the tunnel.

It’s a chase.

It’s what you’re good at.

Right — I’m sorry, I’m…

You blink.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

The fog in your thoughts doesn’t fade, confusion crossing over your features and ill delight crossing over his. All you had was tea, tea and some of the candied fruit his butler brought for your enjoyment, how can you feel so…

Hazy?

So…

Upturned?

Something clatters behind you and you realize it’s the chair you were sitting on as you stand, unsteady and abrupt, lost in the moors of your own frantic thoughts and there is his hand on your elbow, so careful and soft and there are his lips before yours, so…

Tempting.

Somewhere, a woman croons to you of falling rain and rushing blood and the room does spin round as you stand still in the open air of a desire that is yours and not your own all at once. Shhh, shhh, let me help you whispered in your ear, a hand to your cheek and you…

You blink.

Reality flows into view like a sudden bath of ice water. Jerk away from his iron grip, raise your hands and try to resist, shake your head and N-no, I think. I think I need to go, I’ll just call a cab —

I cannot let you do that, sweetling. Not when you are finally within my reach.

His hold is steady. Unbreakable, even, as he pulls you close and you might even be dancing with the way his arm wraps around your waist the moment you fall into his chest, Don’t look so afraid, sweetling. No one will hurt you, here.

I will protect you like a jewel.

Your mind is still yours — the dose was just enough — but your limbs? Your limbs are tied to his strings, lost as he guides you right back inside, lost as he gestures for Oeznik to close off the balcony.

Your place is somewhere else now.

You belong underneath me.

He guides you inside, jasmine intoxicating your senses and wisps of smoke seeming to float past your eyes. Reality blends into the fantasy, the Baron and his prize, the gentle touch against your soft cheek, the cradling against his form and he is…

Determined.

A door opens. A portal into another kind of decadence, with soft sheets and softer touches, the sliding of a mouth over yours as your escape clicks shut behind you and you are pressed between wall and man and you are consumed.

Curl your fingers into the lapel of his coat, lose yourself to the pressure of his lips, the sharp nip of teeth against soft flesh. He tastes of champagne and honeycomb and you are saccharine on the tongue, a mess of sighs and admonitions left unsaid.

My precious thing, whispered into your unfocused sighs, I will take such fine care of you.

And you want to protest, want to insist you are free you are uninterested you do not want this man and his hands under the cotton of your blouse but the words tangle on your tongue and instead all you can do is whimper.

Whimper, and hear him chuckle against your skin, a line of kisses drawn from your parted lips along your jaw until he’s found the thrum of your pulsebeat to draw a gasp the moment his teeth scrape against the delicate skin. He must mark you his, after all, and this he will gladly renew, over and over.

Over and over as he draws you to bed, lays you amongst soft cushions and softer sheets, indulges in the soft curves of you in the golden glow of the room. Your clothes — so conservative, so professional, so unnecessary — he makes short work of even with what mild resistance you manage, Shh, shh, do not fight me.

The heat is yours and not yours all at once, warming your skin and leaving you flushed, leaving a trail of burning want along your skin where his fingers trace over you and centering in your core You need this, sweetling, look at you…

Do you?

Is it you who needs this or he, he who has begun to kiss along your skin, he who presses himself between your legs so impatiently? The accusation lives in your thoughts and passes past your lips as a strangled Nnh-no, ignored without ceremony or appeal.

Protests are useless when your tongue can form no words and your limbs can do nothing but writhe, seeking structure in the grip of his sheets as he unravels you with a press of his lips to that soft center of yours, slick with a need you cannot own and yet all yours.

He maps you with a hungry gaze, fingers already tracing the plushness of your folds, gathering slick like he might have been collecting nectar and you watch him pull back, watch him bring his hand to his mouth, watch him wrap lips around his fingertip and drag the taste of you onto his tongue, One day I shall make you taste how sweet you are…

One day, after he has savored you so deeply.

You are so full of words they burst out of you on a normal day and yet nothing you say comes to light, just the bare whimpers and anxious mewls of your needy self as he returns to inspecting, to enjoying, to savoring the reactiveness of your body.

He touches. He touches as if he has owned your body a thousand times, he touches as if you are delicate, as if you are breakable, as if his fingers might lead you to shattering around him here and now and you…

Are so close, already.

So close, trying to find the strength in your muscles to pull away, to speak something beyond desperation with every curl of fingers against your cunt, with every pleased hum he utters in response to the flex of your sex. Shh… no more fighting, sweetling, I know you can be good.

He knows you can be good, he says, with all the innocence of a man trying to convince his cat to stop clawing the couch, not a man presently holding your legs open with one hand at your thigh and the other curling against your walls while you arch your back. It builds, the pressure, it builds and builds and builds and — Let go, sweetling. Let me see your ecstasy.

Is that what this is?

You keen. You keen softly, desperately, brokenly, as skilled fingers find the spot which makes you, which leaves you breathless and flushed and sobbing, a trickle of tears making their path down your cheeks as you bite your own lip to muffle the sounds you did not know you could make. Wordless and pleading and he notices with a cold smile the way you seem to succumb, hips no longer desperate to escape the curling, stretching assault of two — no, three — fingers preparing you for him.

Hips pressing back towards him now, a betrayal of your conscious-yet-barely-focused mind, that lustful sweetness in you taking over and he can only watch in awe. Awe not at your surrender but at your perfection, muttering in a language you do not understand and yet you understand perfectly what he means — he will have you, all of you.

Ah, I shall so enjoy playing with you more, sweetling.

But not now.

Now his impatience outpaces your need and both outpace his cruelty, his desire to see you beg and so instead he pulls back his hand — and hears the desperate N-no, please don’t — to bring a cruel gleam to his dark eyes and even barely conscious as you are you know he is beautiful.

Beautiful and cruel, as he frees himself and curls fingers around his cock, rubs your own slick onto that soft skin, hisses at the very feel of you like it must be a preview to how you will make him throb, and presses himself over you. Presses himself over you, absorbs the cry of pain or anguish or relief which pours from your plush lips with the punishment of a kiss just as he sinks, hips pressing against yours, stretching you with his full length and Now we are one, my sweet.

Now we are one.

He will take fine care of you but you, you take finer care of him, so plush and tight around his senses, so desperate as you cling, so lost and wanton and he kisses away the tears which continue to sting your cheeks and hisses half-sensible promises into your ear — You will always be mine — as he ruts his hips and practically shoves you forward with every thrust, dragging you back with a snarl and the pressure builds.

Builds and you moan, builds and you sob into his hungry mouth, builds and you hold to him as if he were the last thing which made sensein the world builds and you are consumed and he is consuming, and the release is both of yours, spilling deep inside of you and that too is the final shackle upon your soul.

You sit. In the darkness of your office and you remember, worrying the cuticle of your thumb and staring at the words you have typed while your memory drifts back to that hazy reminder.

… A discussion with the Baron about Sokovia reveals a country rich with history. Once a Duchy of the Hapsburgs during the era of the Holy Roman Empire, the deeply Catholic country clings to the Austrian and Italian tradition of ceremony and indulgence. Baron Zemo plays an example of the hymns sung in the many cathedrals which once filled the country, a mixture of Sokovian and Latin to raise the soul to divine heights.

The Baron speaks of the country’s culture with a warm fondness, of how even during Soviet occupation, the people managed to enjoy games like ice hockey, and football (the European, variant, the Baron would like to emphasize), and even spent time indulging in horse racing. Surrounded by Slovakia and the Czech Republic, it keeps a similar tradition, with a twist…

No, that cannot encompass all that you discussed, and yet that is what the recording shows, words traded back and forth which you do not remember, a conversation of laughter and warmth and none of it slots into what your mind tells you occurred.

You erase. You rewrite. It is the same passage, over and over, fingers acting unbidden of your frantic will and eventually you give in, demand to be done with these words and this screen, eventually you desire peace.

… Baron Helmut Zemo is many things. A historian, an ambassador, a politician, an activist. He is a widower, a man trapped in the past, a man with lofty dreams for the future. He wears his sorrow as well as he wears his happiness, and for those who still call themselves Sokovian, he is their shepherd into a new age.

And as the door to your office opens, your keeper.

#baron zemo x reader #helmut zemo x reader #dark!baron zemo x reader #dark!helmut zemo x reader #billy russo x reader #dark!billy russo x reader #helmut zemo smut #dark!fic #mob!AU #helmut zemo #billy russo

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teawaffles · 3 years ago

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The Adventures of John: Chapter 4, Part 1

Setting off from Piccadilly Circus, Laura walked through Trafalgar Square, then headed down the Strand and Fleet Street. Without looking left nor right, she kept moving eastward across London.

Laura seemed to have been deeply affected by something; as they tailed her from behind, Sherlock let out a small laugh.

“Ha, she is really is a kid after all. Heading straight to her destination like a fool after sensing the slightest bit of danger. And not even considering the risk of being followed like this.”

John, who was walking beside him, spoke up.

“The way you’re talking, it sounds like you know where she’s going.”

“Of course. The address Wiggins said earlier — something’s hidden there. The stray dog sneaking into the building was just an outright lie, yet she turned pale upon hearing it.”

Though John understood what had happened earlier, Sherlock’s words completely eluded his grasp.

“What on earth do you mean, Sherlock?”

At his partner's baffled expression, the detective cracked an exuberant grin. Then, while keeping up the pace, he began to explain in a low voice.

“Well then, let’s start pulling back the curtain. In order to smoke out this shadowy ring of thieves, I used Wiggins and his friends to lay a trap.”

“The Irregulars?”

“Yeah. I asked them to search the slums; but at the same time, I also instructed them to spread a certain piece of information — that the stolen goods from the arrested thieves were being kept at our apartment. As such, there was a chance the other thieves would pay us a visit to retrieve the items.”

John thought back to the jewellery sitting on the sideboard. That had looked pointless at first, but in fact, there’d been a good reason why they were there.

“To be honest, it was a gamble — even I thought there was only a fifty-fifty chance it’d work, but it was a resounding success.”

Sherlock looked at the figure of the girl up ahead, and John was incredulous. At that moment, the pair had just walked past the facade of St Paul’s Cathedral.

“You’re talking about Laura? You mean, that child is one of those thieves from the slums?”

“Don’t underestimate her just because she’s a child. However, judging from how nervous she’s been, I’d say she isn’t one of the thieves exactly; I get the feeling that she’s been forced to follow their orders.”

Hearing that, John thought back to the scene at the cafe.

When he asked Laura if she’d been hiding anything, she had frantically denied it. Placing that reaction in the perspective that she had actually been trying to hide how she was abetting the thieves, it did make sense.

However, John was starting to get confused by all the unexpected revelations, and he fired back doubts of his own.

“Sherlock: to start with, how did you know Laura’s from the underclass? From her appearance, one would think she’s from the middle class.”

“Oi oi, isn’t that obvious? Her fingers were strangely brownish, weren't they? That trait’s often seen in merchants who shell walnuts and sell them on the street.”

“……I see.”

Hearing the detective’s precise analysis, John nodded in admiration. He had first noticed that peculiarity of Laura’s at the cafe, but Sherlock had spotted it right at their first meeting, and seen through her guise straight away.

“Let’s say you’re right. But then, why did Laura disguise herself like that?”

“It’s simple: the thieves knew that I was fairly certain they hailed from the slums, so they wanted her to hide her status just in case. It’s not clear whether she bought those clothes herself, or the thieves stole them — but anyway, that disguise didn’t fool me,” he quipped. “And you should also know that the details — her cuffs, thumbs, nails, and shoelaces — were extremely important and provided a wealth of clues.”

“But even if she is from the underclass, isn’t it at least true that she came by to ask us to search for her dog?”

“That’s a natural question, but I’ll tell you later why that was a lie.”

Putting aside the truth behind her request for the time being, Sherlock continued to explain his reasoning.

“Getting back to the topic: right when I dangled the bait, that kid showed up. But at that point in time, she hadn’t come to take the stolen items by force. Together with Miss Hudson, we were three adults against a child — the difference in physical strength was obvious. As such, our opponents definitely had another plan up their sleeve.”

“A plan…… Do you mean the search for the dog?”

“Precisely. In all likelihood, it carried three meanings.”

Sherlock raised three fingers.

“First: a simple reconnaissance.”

Hearing that, John agreed right away.

“They had to confirm if it was really you looking after the stolen items, rather than the Yard; so Laura visited us on the pretext of making a request.”

“Correct. It looks like you’re starting to get it. Then, reason two: under the guise of having us search for her dog, she wanted to make us both leave the flat.”

“……Ah.”

John finally understood what Sherlock had meant earlier — and he shuddered.

“If we’d left the apartment with her, then only Miss Hudson — a lady — would’ve remained behind……”

“The thieves were probably banking on that opportunity to break into the flat. Although we’d still only be three people even if we stayed behind, it’d be smoother if there were only one woman in the house. Hence, their ruse to have us ‘search for her dog’ was genius. It’s a reasonable request, coming from a child; moreover, it’s not something on a level where you’d go to the police, so it only feels natural for her to approach a detective about it.”

“These thieves sure have a horrible way of thinking, huh……. But as I said before, these are all premised on the assumption that Laura’s request was a lie: they’re still just hypotheses.”

“And as I said, I have definite proof that it’s a lie,” Sherlock replied. “But I’ll tell you about it later……. In the end, the thieves weren’t able to achieve the two goals I mentioned. And that’s because I anticipated their motives, and turned down the request. As insurance in the event of this scenario, Laura’s visit also carried a third meaning…… Sorry to break it off halfway, but we’re almost there.”

Just as Sherlock was about to reveal the final answer, it seemed Laura was nearing her destination.

She had arrived at a set of disused, run-down warehouses along the bank of the Thames, near the Tower of London. [1] The girl looked all around her carefully, then headed deep into the silent industrial district.

Then, she stopped before an abandoned warehouse, and stood there in a daze. Apparently, some kind of excessive shock had made her mind go blank. And upon seeing it, John — who had yet to know the full picture — was also shaken.

Before the girl’s eyes, in the open space before the warehouse—— stood dozens of people, their dirty clothes lending them the appearances of vagrants. Among the group were several hooded figures, whose faces couldn’t be clearly distinguished.

Upon seeing Laura, the vagrants all moved toward her in unison. Sensing the gaze of the crowd on her, she shrank and took a step back.

“……U-Um, why is everyone here? I thought we weren’t supposed to gather here in large numbers, since the bobbies would get suspicious……”

John was presently concealed somewhere behind the girl. From the way she had spoken, it was apparent that the crowd of people was familiar to her. Furthermore, at the very least, she had done something that would draw the attention of the Yard.

At Laura’s question, a middle-aged man stepped forward from the group. And upon seeing his eyes, John felt a glimmer of recognition.

“That’s what I wanted to ask you. What the hell was that?”

The man’s tone was one of formidable menace, and Laura shrank further and further away.

“W-What’re you talking about……?”

At that vague reply, the man tutted in frustration.

“……Then I’ll explain it to you. In the evening, I came all the way here to hide the cash we recovered from that softhearted chap.”

The man stared at the warehouse behind him, as if glaring at it, then returned his gaze to Laura.

“Then when I went into town, I heard some brats saying that there were stray dogs making mischief near these warehouses. I got curious and came back. But for some reason, the others also gathered here one after another. And when I asked them, they all gave me the same story about dogs or burglars or something showing up nearby.”

“Stray dogs……”

With a start, Laura spun around. Then Sherlock stepped out of the shadows with a dignified air, and revealed himself before the crowd. John still didn’t fully understand what was going on; but for now, he placed his belongings on the ground, and went to stand beside Sherlock.

“Dr Watson, and Mr Holmes? ……Did you both follow me here?”

Her own mistake finally dawned upon her, and she paled. But in contrast, Sherlock smiled like a child whose mischief had succeeded.

“It’s about time you realised. It seems your horizons are rather narrow: you should pay more attention to what’s behind you next time.”

At his suggestion, all Laura could do was to groan inaudibly. Then, the man who’d been speaking to her spat out a curse.

“This brat, getting completely tricked like that — what useless scum.”

Sherlock’s tone became derisive.

“Oi oi, a good adult shouldn’t talk like that to a kid, y’know. Still, you got the gist of my trick, right? I got the Irregulars to follow some of the vagrants in the parks, and that’s how I identified this place. As for the remaining people I’d investigated, who seemed to be your accomplices — one by one, I made them overhear rumours that all established the idea that this place was under threat. Then, as planned: everyone got antsy and gathered here in one friendly bunch.”

Trembling, Laura asked him a question.

“That boy Wiggins from earlier: was that your doing, Mr Holmes……?”

“Exactly. But as for the rest of these guys, I didn’t think it’d succeed this brilliantly. You all got way too panicked at the smallest sense of danger. But I’ll give you credit for hiding the loot in such an old warehouse; it’s no wonder we couldn’t find them, even after searching the slums down to its corners.”

Sherlock gazed at the warehouse in admiration. Speechless, Laura just stood there, rooted to the spot, and the man gnashed his teeth in frustration.

Standing beside Sherlock, John listened to their conversation while watching the man with the sharp gaze closely. A doubt arose in his mind, and he observed the rest of the crowd standing petrified before the warehouse — when he gasped in surprise.

Among the group, was the old walnut-seller from Regent’s Park.

The other people he’d bought items from, and given money to in order to obtain more information about Laura’s dog — John also recognised their faces in the crowd.

As he stood dazed, Sherlock patted him on the shoulder and revealed the truth.

“Now you know the third meaning from before. In other words, it was as though they were trying to recover their stolen goods — they used sightings of the dog as bait, and worked together to cheat you of your money. It’s a sly trick; and considering the odds of success, just getting it to work the first two or three times would already be a big achievement. But since you’re more of a softy than they anticipated, it seems you gave them nearly every penny you had.”

“…………”

As he recalled, every time he had decided on their next destination, Laura had confirmed it in an excessively loud voice. He himself hadn’t noticed; but in all likelihood, Laura’s accomplices had been in the vicinity, and that’d been a way of communicating their next location so the group could get there ahead of time. The cash the man mentioned at the start probably referred to the large sum that had disappeared from John’s wallet.

At long last, John understood the whole picture. But more than indignation at having been tricked, to have completely fallen for that: he felt ashamed at his own idiocy.

The man before them was now cornered. Even so, he regained his composure and spoke.

“Hold on, Mr Detective. It seems you think we’ve committed theft, but that’s all a misunderstanding.”

Opposite Laura, who was standing with her head drooped, the man launched into an eloquent speech.

“It’s true that we’re all working together. But as for our relation to this place, it’s just a meeting spot in the event of an emergency. Even if you were to search that warehouse and find stolen goods inside, that would just be a coincidence. It’s all just a series of misfortunes: in the end, you have no proof that we’re the thieves.”

He emphasised that it was all a fluke, though his assertion was a little forced in terms of logic. In itself, there was no issue with the group assembling before this abandoned warehouse. Of course, the amount they’d cheated from John had all been freely given by his own hand — as long as he didn’t ask for his money back, it wasn’t as if a crime had been committed.

However, just as Sherlock had declared right before they’d arrived here, he had the ammunition to shoot down that clumsy argument. Languidly, he approached the girl; and without hesitation, he reached into her pocket.

“——Then, what’s this?”

Footnotes:

[1] This seems to be the St Katharine Docks, which are located right beside the Tower of London. They had their heyday in the early 19th century, and so were probably in decline by this point. (A London history blog)

Translator’s notes

Laura’s path across London

Here’s a rough map of her nearly six-kilometre journey:

A: Piccadilly Circus

B: Trafalgar Square

C: The Strand (a street)

D: Fleet Street

E: St Paul’s Cathedral

F: Tower of London

G: St Katharine Docks

#moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #yuumori #english translation #a study in scarlet

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mommymooze · 3 years ago

Text

Flowers in Your Hair

Dimitri x reader

Coming from a coastal city of Faerghus, you are a very successful blacksmiths eldest daughter. Your parents finally give in to your nonstop requests to go to the academy. As shy as you are, they cannot believe you want to leave home and go out on your own. Somehow you feel the dream is worth it.

Classes begin and you are in the Blue Lions House being from their territory. Everyone seems to know each other, and they are all loud and boisterous. Annette and Mercedes take you under their wing and help you get settled in the new environment. Professor Byleth instructs everyone in class about the basics of combat, fighting and defense. She decides that you may have a talent in brawling, archery, and faith magic. You are certainly not very tall, most of the guys in this class tower over you, however you do have muscles.

You are terribly shy at first until you become more acquainted with the team. You tolerate Sylvain’s flirting, turning him down in the nicest way every single time. You actually make friends with Dedue working with him in the gardens. You help Annette learning faith magic by letting her work on your bruises from sparring and you also move barrels to safer locations all around the monastery so there is less for her to trip over. Baking with Mercedes is pure joy and everyone gets excited when they see the two of you headed for the kitchens. Ashe is your archery buddy and you tell each other stories while practicing. You’ve had many late night chats with Ingrid when she is frustrated about her goals of becoming a knight, encouraging her and telling her she is on the right path.

Your favorite person is Dimitri. He is a giant in your eyes. He is strong and polite and caring. Leading the Lions into battle with Dedue on one side and you on the other, the three friends are a force to be reckoned with. Even though he is the crown prince, he never acts like he is above anyone. You’ve never met a noble quite like him.

Sometimes the two of you will talk in the greenhouse while you work on the flowers and vegetables.

“Bend down a second Dimitri.” You ask him with a smile.

The tall man bends and watches as you place a blue flower just over his right ear.

You then hand him another flower, asking him to place yours for you. He blushes and as gently as he can, takes the stem of the flower to stick it over your right ear as well.

“Now we match.” You grin. “I wonder who thought of decorating people with flowers. I am glad they didn’t decide to do it with vegetables. I don’t think you’d be as cute if you had a green bean over your ear.”

Dimitri laughs. “I think you would still be cute, even if it was a carrot or a pea pod.”

“Next Garland Moon I will make you a crown of cherry tomatoes.” You snicker.

“Are you hungry? It is close to dinner and you’re talking a lot about food.” He asks.

“I’m finished here, so let’s head to the dining hall.” You reach out to grab his hand as he helps you from the ground.

You dust the dirt from your knees and head toward the door. Dimitri’s long legs carry him to the door just quickly enough that he can open it for you to pass through. Walking side by side to the dining hall your shoulder brushes with his arm and it makes him blush.

The dining hall is fairly full, but there is space at the Blue Lions table for both of you. Normally you sit on opposite sides so you can see Dimitri’s reactions to the conversations going on, today you have to sit next to him. Mercedes asks a question, and you turn to face her, your knee lightly touching his thigh and Dimitri drops his fork on his plate.

“We have flowers because we’re part of the cute club today! Want to join? I’ll go get everyone a flower.” You happily offer.

Mercedes laughs softly, “Oh, I don’t think any of us could compare to your cuteness right now.” Annette giggles in affirmation.

“You would all be adorable with flowers!” You declare loudly.

Sylvain grins, “I for one would love to see all of our lovely ladies wearing flowers.” Felix grunts in disapproval of everything Sylvain has to say as he stabs the meat on his plate.

Ashe perks up, “I remember a story I read once about how fair maidens would bestow flowers upon their braves knights before battles…” and continues to tell the story during the meal.

Everyone leaves to go their separate ways, Dimitri heads out to the lance workshop the Professor is teaching. You decide to go to the greenhouse to gather and distribute flowers to everyone in the Blue Lions. Sylvain is more than happy to let you place a flower on him and offers a kiss in return which you quickly decline. When you ask Dedue he kindly bows low so that you may gently place the flower over his ear. Annette, Mercedes and even Ingrid happily wear their flowers. You find Ashe in the library looking for the book he was talking about over dinner and he blushes as you place his flower for him. The only one left is Felix.

You head to the Knight’s Hall, however that is where Byleth is holding class. He’s not there, so you skedaddle to the training grounds. Felix is beating up on one of the knights. You ask him if he will let you place his flower. He refuses, of courswe.

“Spar with me. I win, you wear the flower.” You tease.

“Fine.” He grunts, raising his sword.

“Nope! Hand to hand!” You take your brawlers stance, knowing that he won’t refuse.

Felix tosses the sword and immediately runs at you, you bend low at the last moment grabbing his legs and throwing him over your shoulder. You wrestle with him for 30 minutes. His arms are tired and he’s sweating, but finally decides that you are indeed the winner. (You beat him the first time, so he said 2 out of 3, but when you won 3 of 3 he knew he lost.) You do a little victory shuffle and then place the flower behind his ear.

Heading to the Knights Hall the class is being dismissed. Dimitri is walking out with Dedue. You overly exaggerate a shocked look at Dimitri.

“What? Is something wrong?” Dimitri is looking left and right around him, having no idea what is going on.

“Your flower is gone! Dedue still has his!” You point out, and sure enough, his best friend is still proudly displaying his blossom.

“My apologies, I was so focused on training, I did not notice that it must have fallen.” Dimitri bows, begging your forgiveness. Dedue takes this as an opportune time to head toward his room, providing a bit of privacy to the both of you.

“You are so lucky that I have one bloom left.” You smile as your fingers beckon him to come closer and bend so you can reach. Carefully you brush some stray hairs behind his ear, then tuck the new flower behind his ear. You place a kiss next to the flower. “There, cute as a button.”

Dimitri blushes profusely as he is left speechless.

“I’m going to take a walk around for a bit. You know, enjoy the night air before the chill sets in. Want to come along?” You look at him hopefully.

“Um…Yes! Certainly! By all means!” His brain finally kicks back in and he offers an elbow. Taking his arm, you thread your hand through the crook and walk with him talking about things studied in class and other random things. You find yourselves on the bridge to the Cathedral just as the sun is setting.

“Wow. Those colors are amazing. I don’t think Ignatz could paint that many different shades of red, orange and yellow.” You sigh.

You both marvel at the colors as the sun slowly sinks into the horizon. The sun took its warmth when it left, and the chill of the night air begins to settle in. Dimitri walks you back to your room. You both hesitate at the threshold. You suddenly turn and throw your arms around him giving him a huge hug.

“That was pretty romantic for a first date!” You laugh as you quickly head in your room and close the door.

Dimitri stands and stares at the door for a moment, then turns towards his room, chuckling to himself.

#fe3h #feth #fire embelm three houses #dimitri x reader #fe dimitri #fe3h x reader #fe blue lions #fe16

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p-artsypants · 3 years ago

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The Ghost of Smokey Joe (3)

Lullaby of the Leaves

Ao3 | FF.net

Marinette laid on her bed. Her bed that she would have to vacate soon so Alya and Nino could live in domestic bliss in peace.

Besides, she didn’t want to overhear their nightly trysts.

She still had some time, though. If only cheaper apartments were available.

Then again, she could just move back in with her parents. They lived close enough to the Agreste mansion that it wouldn’t be a bad idea. But going from independence to living back home? Could she bear it?

“Hmm,” Tikki stated, munching on a cookie.

“What?”

“I was just thinking…”

“About?”

“There hasn’t been an Akuma attack in a week.”

Marinette gasped as she sat up. “You’re right! With all this drama at work and with Adrien, I hadn’t even noticed! Wow. Can you imagine how much more stressful this week would have been if there was even one?”

“Guess you lucked out! Maybe Hawkmoth also caught cancer-strep-pneumonia-bronchitis!”

“Oh come on Tikki, that’s not funny!”

“I just think you need to grill him some more. He’s hiding something.”

“Obviously.” Marinette checked the time. 10 minutes until her Thursday night patrol. “I could always ask Chat. He’s good for bouncing ideas off of.”

“Be careful,” Tikki warned.

“I’ll be as vague as humanly possible.” Then she transformed, and left through the window.

Rustling of the leaves used to be my lullaby

Days so long ago when I was a tot, so high

And now that I have grown

I've found myself alone

Oh how Marinette missed the convenience of her parents rooftop hatch. This window worked, and it thankfully had a fire escape to step out onto, but man, it was a tight squeeze. With a little effort, she heaved herself through the alley-facing window and out into the night. Her next apartment was going to have a nice sized, inconspicuous window for Ladybug to go to work through.

She swung out into Paris, the fall air caressing her face. It was September, and the leaves were just barely starting to turn. School was back in session, and soon, the streets would be emptier. Since it was Paris, it would never be completely empty, but not having to wade through throngs of sweaty tourists would really make life easier. Especially when she was running late to work.

And while it was only September, and that day had seen plenty of people out and about as always, the night had an edge. The shadows seemed darker, the twinkling lights somehow dimmer, and the voices of nighthawks muffled by wind and doors.

These were all thoughts that Ladybug had as she started her patrol. Maybe she should have been thinking about how to tell Chat about what was going on with Adrien.

‘Hey, I have a friend that’s been ghosting me all week, and when I talked to him today, he was really weird. I think he’s hiding something, but I don’t know how to ask. I might have done something to make him mad, but he insists that I did nothing wrong. What should I do?’

Yes, this would work. Vague, and something someone would have written to an advice column.

Cradle me where summer skies can watch me with a million eyes

Oh, sing me to sleep

Lullaby of the leaves

She stopped on the rooftop of Notre Dame. Since the fire, the cathedral had been completely devoid of people at night. There weren't even any candles in the windows.

Just large black holes in the roof, ready to swallow her whole if she got too close.

Chat wasn’t here. For the first time in what felt like forever, he hadn’t beaten her to patrol. He once had told her that patrol was his favorite, as it gave him freedom to get out of the house. So he was always early, normally being out for a while before patrol. So he should be here, somewhere.

“Chat?” She called into the night.

There was no response.

Well, she was early. She’d give him some time, and then call him.

So she waited. Minutes ticked on slowly, like she was moving through water. Unease gnawed at her mind, the silence and his absence so loud it was hard to think.

Chat was larger than life, fun and flirty and everything this night was turning out not to be. Was she that lonely? That desperate for his company?

“Hey Bugaboo, I’m either busy or not transformed. I’ll get back to you when I can!” His voicemail echoed in the night.

“Did you forget we had patrol?” She asked the machine. “I’ll start without you. Just catch up when you can. I want to pick your brain about something, anyways.”

She did a lap, trying not to think about her missing partner, and focusing on the world below her.

The world that seemed empty no matter where she went.

Sure, there were people out and about, but there wasn’t life in them. They might as well be cardboard cutouts dancing in the wind.

Where was Chat Noir?

Cover me with Heaven's blue

And let me dream a dream or two

Oh, sing me to sleep

Lullaby of the leaves

An hour passed before she called him again.

“Hey Bugaboo, I’m either busy or not transformed. I’ll get back to you when I can!”

She didn’t bother leaving a voicemail this time.

What was it with cute blond boys ghosting her all of a sudden?

She finished patrol on her own, seeing nothing of interest. Not even a pickpocket.

Then she passed by the Agreste mansion.

Adrien was usually out when she did her rounds. Sometimes his light was on, sometimes not. But just passing by his room made her feel better, even if he wasn’t there.

He was tonight.

The lights were out, and the only way to see him was some outside illumination from the streetlights.

He was standing in front of those huge windows, just watching the world.

As she passed, she stopped on the edge of the wall, and smiled at him.

He looked right at her, she was certain.

She waved.

He didn’t.

I'm breezing along, along with the breeze

I'm hearing a song, a song through the trees

Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh

That pine melody caressing the shore

Familiar to me

I've heard it before

Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh

He held his phone in his hand, and it lit up in that moment, illuminating his face from below.

Adrien was always sweet. Even as he got older, his boyish charm remained. He was hot, he was cute, and maybe even a little sexy.

But in that moment, with the blue light casting harsh shadows on his face, he looked downright scary.

Eyes plunged into darkness, and a mouth set into a thick line.

The screen went dark, and Adrien faded into a silhouette.

Ladybug swallowed, and took up her yo-yo, calling Chat just one last time for the night.

“Hey Bugaboo, I’m either busy or not transformed. I’ll get back to you when I can!”

The beep was so loud. She was aware of the hanging silence, waiting for her to speak, to relay her message.

“Chat, I…I finished my patrol. Everything is good, and fine. I guess. Got weird vibes tonight. So if you could call me, and just let me know you’re okay, I’d appreciate it. I’m not even mad that you missed patrol. You’d have a good reason. Just…get back to me. Okay?”

The whole time she talked, she kept her eyes on Adrien.

He never moved. Not even a shift in his stance, he just stood and watched her.

Like a predator waiting for their prey.

Never did Ladybug fear him. Never any reason too. So why tonight?

That's heaven

Don't I feel it in my soul

And don't I know I've reached my goal

Oh, sing me to sleep

Lullaby of the leaves

“I’m being paranoid.” She said aloud.

And she really hoped that was it.

#the ghost of Smokey Joe #miraculous #miraculous ladybug #ml #ladybug #chat noir #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #fanfiction

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autumnslance · 4 years ago

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((Shadowbringers post-5.3. NSFW for naughty language and a scoundrel scandalizing his girlfriend.))

The ceremony was lengthy, the lists and speeches interminable, and Aeryn struggled to not doze off. She shifted in her seat as the sermon continued.

Thancred dropped his arm from the back of her chair to her shoulder. “Sleepy?” He pitched his voice so only she could hear.

“Mm-hm,” she replied, then whispered, “How’re you staying awake?”

She realized it had been a mistake to ask when a wicked grin curled up his lips. “Well,” he murmured. “I’ve been thinking about all the carnal things we’re going to do when we’re alone later.”

Her eyes widened and the heat bloomed on her cheeks. “Thancred,” she hissed, sitting up straighter.

“What?” he asked, amused. “Woke you up, didn’t it?”

“The worst,” Aeryn muttered fondly while he snickered.

She counted up to two minutes before he leaned close. “Now that I’m thinking about it, though…”

“Thought you already were?”

“Your jacket will have to come off.”

“It tends to when retiring for the night—”

“So I can put my hand on the back of your neck to hold you in place when I bend you over the nearest table.” The hand on her shoulder slid over until his fingertips were brushing the nape of her neck under her hair and collar.

Aeryn sucked in a breath, heat flaring once more...and not just in her face, godsdamn him. “This isn’t appropriate,” she whispered, eyes darting to check if anyone else had heard as she adjusted her seat again to cross her legs.

But the Warrior of Light and her companion were in the Fortemps box, high in the rear of the small auditorium, the other Scions having found reasons for their absence, including Alphinaud; not even their resident diplomat wanted to sit through another Ishgardian ceremony as a favor to their highborn friends. The heads of the elezens in the seats in front of them were barely visible, and heavy drapes separated the other noble boxes, forcing one to lean forward to glimpse other High House attendees—she had waved to the disgruntled-looking Stephanivien de Hailenarte earlier, presence no doubt forced as he always preferred to be in the Manufactory.

They were as alone as they could be in such a public venue.

“No, I suppose not,” Thancred agreed, sounding far too amused and looking completely at ease as he leaned back in his seat. His fingertips continued to tease her neck.

She counted another minute while the priest droned on before Thancred’s fingernails ever so gently pressed into her nape while he whispered, “Nor would it be appropriate to mention how much I wish to push up that skirt to sate my curiosity; full tights, or stockings? If the latter, are you wearing garters?”

“I’m not telling you,” she hissed, highly aware of his hold on her neck. She tried to pay attention to the priest once more, but her pulse was growing louder in her own ears and prevented any comprehension.

“I’m hoping for stockings,” Thancred mused. “Then they can stay on as I run my hand up your thighs until I find the hems of your smalls.”

Aeryn bit the inside of her cheek and tried not to squirm. She wasn’t giving him the satisfaction yet.

“I shall run my fingers where fabric meets skin,” he said, speaking in the rumbling purr she enjoyed him using in the bedroom which was not helping. His fingertips still massaged her neck. “Until I hear that delightful little whimper you make when about to beg of me.”

She was certain her face was on fire now.

He leaned close. “Only then, darling, will I test to see just how wet you’ve gotten,” Thancred’s whisper was a thunderous growl in her ear.

Aeryn’s boot hit the floor more heavily than she intended. She tried to look casual as she recrossed her legs and swallowed. She was not telling him how heated she was getting now.

“I haven’t decided yet,” he continued, lips brushing her earlobe. “If I’m going to remove your pantalettes entirely, or pull them just far enough aside to ravish you with my hand.”

She could practically feel his smirk as she gripped the armrests and tried to focus on the priest expounding at the podium. The man’s name escaped her at the moment.

Thancred made a long, thoughtful “hmm” noise; that was utterly unfair. “I suppose it won’t matter when I’m stroking you until you come for the first time for me.”

“We are in a church,” she hissed, trying to ignore the sudden throbbing between her thighs. While Aeryn didn’t believe in the gods anymore, she knew he did—if he had the shame to behave.

“And?” he asked. “Only men have such hangups, not the gods themselves. Especially if one’s studied them and what they get up to, and just why certain places are considered sacred.” The casual brushing of his fingertips over her neck still was not helping. “If I could I’d have you right here, as Thaliak did Azeyma in what became one of their holiest temples.”

“You are making that up,” she said, voice hoarse.

“I’ll show you the texts,” Thancred replied. “Perhaps after having you over the table. I think slowly to start with,” he added idly. “Just to feel you, tight and warm around me, savoring you over and over, building the pace and intensity until you come for me again.”

The auditorium burst into polite applause, startling her and drawing attention to the stage. The small squad of knights being honored for their deeds on the Gyr Abanian battlefields stepped up to receive their awards and promotions.

Aeryn took the opportunity to breathe, clapping as well. “Remind me not to ask how you handle boredom again,” she muttered, attempting to sound grumpy and knowing she was failing.

Thancred chuckled as he joined the polite applause, her neck regretfully free of his touch now. “Kept us awake through that sermon, didn’t it?”

“You’re just hoping I jump you as soon as we return to my room,” she accused in a whisper that didn’t sound as disgruntled as she wished.

“I would definitely count that as a bonus,” he replied. “I have to admit that I wonder what it would take to get you to ‘jump me’ before we reach privacy.”

“Not happening,” Aeryn retorted, attempting to refocus on the stage as the priests and officers went over each knight’s deeds.

“Are you sure?” Thancred asked, that dangerously amused tone returning. “You’re so quiet, it wouldn’t be difficult to find an alcove in a side hallway, perhaps an unused confessional, and press you against the wall, lifting your skirt and legs.” His hand now rested over hers upon the armrest, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on her wrist.

She tried to affect a scowl while continuing to watch the stage. Soon enough, Thancred rumbled a thoughtful “Hmm.” She watched him from the corner of her eyes.

“But if the goal is to get you to initiate, then perhaps you’d prefer to pull me into a dark side room or corner and make me lean on a wall while you get on your knees. I would muss that lovely hairstyle you’re wearing, though.”

Aeryn took a deep breath before she could respond. “I can hardly manage that properly in private, you’ll be sorely disappointed if I try in public. Which I won’t,” she hastily added, seeing his grin.

“Practice makes perfect, darling, and you have been improving,” he assured her, giving her hand a squeeze. “Besides, it would give me cause to reciprocate. That’s what you really enjoy, isn’t it? Me on my knees instead, scribing you poems directly until you’re shaking?”

The imagery was in her mind now, damn him, remembering keenly the last time he had spoken a poem between her legs; his tongue and fingers had left her on the edge of bliss for the better part of an hour before finally tipping her over.

“Of course, then I might actually have to cover your mouth, as you almost make noise when I extol your virtues upon your virtue.”

She eye-rolled at that. In part to cover the little thrill up her spine when he spoke of keeping her quiet. She might have to examine that in more detail later.

“I believe in that case I would bring you close, then wrap your legs ‘round my waist and fuck you against the wall until we’ve both had our pleasure.”

Aeryn bit her lip. His precise deployment of profanity had caused another heated surge low in her belly.

“Then we’ll retire to your room, and then I’ll bend you over the table for more.”

“Think so?” Thank goodness, she managed not to squeak.

“Assuming you’re amenable, of course,” he whispered, giving her hand another squeeze. The ceremony was nearly over.

“I suppose you’ll have to see. When we’re in private.”

He chuckled again, and she did her best to pretend to ignore him in favor of what was happening on stage.

The end of the service and the following hour mingling in the hall removed most of the scandalous conversation from her mind. Aeryn and Thancred wove through the crowd, greeting old friends, smiling and nodding as they were introduced to various people, and otherwise engaged with the upper crust of Ishgardian society until Aeryn’s head spun.

Some baronet was standing far too close and acting far too familiar; she was ready to snap when Thancred stepped in, offering an arm. “Beg pardon, but they expect us at Fortemps Manor,” he said smoothly, smiling at the baronet though his eyes glinted with warning.

Aeryn tucked her arm in Thancred’s. “Of course. You must excuse us, ser.” She barely gave a nod before Thancred pulled her away. “Thank you,” she murmured as they wound through the press of people, hardly thinned despite the hour.

“We should have left a quarter bell ago,” he replied. “You were close to overwhelmed.”

She gave his arm a squeeze. “Not so long as you’re around to keep me steady. Or rescue me from obnoxious nobles.”

“More rescuing the nobles from you,” he replied dryly, smiling as she laughed. He guided her down a narrow stairwell, away from the main hall and exit of the cathedral. “We should be able to leave through a side door to avoid the crowds. But first…” He veered, pulling Aeryn through a door into a small storage chamber, rows of robes hanging along the walls, shelves and boxes of other vestments filling most of the room. Only a narrow space next to the door was free of clutter, and that was where Aeryn’s back pressed as Thancred initiated a passionate kiss.

The earlier conversation flared to the forefront of her mind. Her face—and other parts of her, dammit—heated again while he held her close, the kiss long and deep and oh so promising.

Eventually they pulled but ilms apart, Thancred letting out a satisfied sigh as he leaned his forehead against hers. “I needed that.”

“You’re rather intent on this little fantasy of yours, aren’t you?” she murmured affectionately.

“I perhaps did work myself up, teasing you,” he responded, voice low. Beneath the amusement was a desire that made her breath catch.

Aeryn cleared her throat. “Well, that’s your own fault. We’d best be getting home…”

His hands ran up and down her arms. “You are so…Coerthan tonight.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” She arched her brows.

“Outwardly acting the prim and proper maid, while truly you want very much to be completely undone,” Thancred murmured in that delightful low bedroom voice as they kissed again, his hand on her hip pulling them together and now her heart was racing.

Aeryn pushed him away, holding a finger up as he affected a pout. “First, I am not, you’re being ridiculous—”

“Always, where you’re involved, but you really are—”

“And second,” she continued, a touch exasperated. “We are still in a church and need to return to the manor.” He gave her an expectant look. She sighed. “Once there, I may be persuaded to let you have your way with me.”

“May?” Thancred grinned.

Aeryn smiled oh-so-sweetly back. “Depends how cold the walk between here and there is.”

“I feel compelled to point out we have a perfectly warm room right here.”

“Absolutely not.”

“For an adventurer, you’re certainly lacking a sense of it.”

Aeryn rolled her eyes and gently shoved him aside, leaving the storeroom. Thancred laughed, catching up and reclaiming her arm. “Very well, my dear. Allow me to escort you, and I shall hope you are very cold and require warming once we are within the privacy of the manor.”

Her blush returned and she sighed again, though it turned into a bout of giggles as they left the cathedral.

#Final Fantasy XIV #Lyn Writing #Thancred Waters #Thancred x WoL #Shippy Nonsense #Aeryn Striker

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mrslittletall · 4 years ago

Note

Oh, sorry about that last ask, honestly forgot about fandom asdhyhyd um, same number, but bloodborne and the orphan of kos? weird choice i know

Title: Mindless Fandom: Bloodborne Characters: Lady Maria of the Astral Clocktower, Orphan of Kos Word Count: 2.270 AO3-Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30595280

Summary: After her death, Lady Maria is stuck in a nightmare. After she finds out, that the Hamlet is behind the place she has awoken in, she goes investigating.

(Author's note:

14: Mindless

It is incredibly difficult to come up with something for a boss that exists only as some kind of concept in a nightmare, so I decided to go with an outsider POV for this. So, this might have turned more into a Lady Maria character study, so sorry if that wasn't what you were looking for, anon. It was just the only way I could think about how to make this prompt work.)

Maria had died, but she hadn't found peace.

She had awoken again, in the very clocktower in which she had taken her own life. Around her, the research hall, housing all the patients, the... the experiments. Maria had always refused to call them like this, she always had treated them as humans, regardless of how much the church was dehumanizing them.

Maria had tried to get out of the Research Hall. She needed to see where she was. She was sure that she had died, but the Research Hall looked like an exact copy of what she remembered. She made it through a prison block, one of the Healing Church and once she stepped outside, she knew that she indeed had died.

What laid in front of her, was a nightmarish version of Yharnam, mostly of Cathedral Ward. A fake light shone down on it, a pale, lifeless light and as she wandered through it, hunters and beasts were locked in an eternal battle. This place truly was a nightmare... a nightmare for hunters, and Maria had been a hunter herself.

True, she had quit the job, cast her weapon away and turned to comfort the patients in the Research Hall, but when she looked down at her hip, she could see the very same Rakuyo she had cast away and she was clothed in her garb, right up to the feathered hat.

Maria returned to the clocktower and sat down, waiting. She was dead and wasn't getting hungry or thirsty or tired. Most of the time she did just... think. Think about how her death had affected the ones she left behind. Gehrman, Micolash, Laurence... Adeline, the blood saint in the Research Hall she had taken a liking too. She was here as well, at least a version of her that her mind must have been fabricated. Maria felt that the Research Hall was her own personal hell, like the hunters outside were locked into an endless cycle of the hunt.

Maria could hear it. The sounds behind the big clock. The rushing of waves. The dripping of water. She could smell it, the faint smell of salt and the much more prominent smell of rotten fish.

She knew that behind the door there would lay something that scared her even more than the Research Hall... but one day she couldn't bear it anymore. She needed to know.

So Maria got up from her chair, in which she must have sat for days. Or weeks. Or months. Or years. Time wasn't a concept in this place, so she didn't know, only that it had been a long time.

She faced the structure behind her and held up an item known as the celestial dial, knowing that it would open the way. After the hole had fully opened, Maria took a deep breath, even though she didn't need to breathe anymore and stepped through it.

There was a small cave, but once she traversed it, Maria saw her true nightmare right in front of her eyes.

The Fishing Hamlet...

It felt like ages had passed since she had been sent here alongside Gehrman. Because of their combat prowess they had been chosen to take care of any attacks, so that the scholars could work unhindered. Maria hadn't questioned it back then. She had trusted Master Willem's word, that they were doing the right thing, that the villagers of the Hamlet were in the wrong for keeping the treasure of the stranded Great One for themselves.

That it had been Byrgenwerth and not the Healing Church, made the whole thing even worse. The Healing Church hadn't even existed back then. Laurence had been in the middle of his blood research, having been excluded from the trip, because Master Willem had been against it. Of course the sneaky bastard still had found a way to follow them and harvest the blood of the Great One while everyone else had been distracted. Still, Maria had acted under the order of Byrgenwerth. She had done atrocious things in the name of knowledge... atrocious things she wanted to absolve while serving the Church, only to realize that she had gone from serving one monster to serve another monster. Still, she could have believed it far more if the Healing Church had been the one to attack the Hamlet.

In a sense, the Healing Church started in Byrgenwerth, so she shouldn't be too surprised.

Maria continued walking, the shallow water washing around her boot, cold water dousing her feet. There was a figure limping forward, mumbling something about Byrgenwerth, but when she stayed to listen, she quickly realized that they didn't notice her, forever caught in their ramblings.

Approaching the village, Maria's hands encompassed her Rakuyo. She couldn't preclude the possibility that the nightmare had conjured the villagers, the one Willem had let cut open to search for eyes in their brain, to attack anyone approaching their sanctuary.

For some reason, nobody disturbed her. She could cross the village without fail. Sometimes she heard sounds, the splashing of water, the shuffling of feet, the creaking of wood... along with the prominent smell of fish, that had dried on land for a little too long, but nobody ever stood in her way.

Maria stopped when she came upon a certain well. She knew this well. That had been the well she had tossed her Rakuyo in. Once again, her grip around her Rakuyo tightened. She knew that her gear wasn't real, and was a fabrication of the dream, but she asked herself if she still would find a Rakuyo in there... her Rakuyo...

Maria had to wrest herself free from her thoughts. This wasn't why she had come here. She had another goal.

So, she continued walking, each step filling her boots with more water, until her feet were freezing and her whole body shivered, even though she knew that she wasn't alive anymore. Her body still made her believe that she was alive...

Maria stepped out of the cave, approaching the corpse on the shore. Kos, the Great One they had come here for. The Great One which Laurence had harvested the blood from. The Great One which Willem had cut open to take a piece of her unborn child...

All Great Ones lose their children and long for a surrogate. The thought was predominant in Maria's head. Did they really lose their children or did humans take them? A question that she would never get an answer too...

She didn't even know why she had come here. To make up for her crimes? To get answers? That was something she could never make up for. Maybe she had simply come to apologize.

So, Maria kneeled down in front of Kos and folded her hands in prayer, when something stirred inside the dead body.

Maria was on her feet immediately, her Rakuyo on the ready, her eyes fixated on Kos' stomach.

Something... crawled out of Kos, no... it looked... looked like she gave birth. But that couldn't be. She knew that the child had been dead. She had been a part of killing it. Maria gasped as the creature was completely “born” and slowly got up. That wasn't... that surely didn't look like a child. It was large, with grey skin, managed to step up on two feet and... actually still was connected to the placenta of its mother.

It looked like the most nightmarish thing she had seen and she was currently stuck in a nightmare.

Still, the way it stood there, the way it seemed to wail, that was nothing but a lost, confused and scared child.

Maria lowered her Rakuyo and took a step closer.

“Hey.”, she said. “I am not here to-”

Before she could even finish her sentence the child approached her with a blood-curdling scream. Maria gasped in shock and surprise and stepped out of the way, to not be crushed by this giant placenta, that the creature used like a mace.

“I am not here to fight!”, she screamed, trying to drown out their screams. “I want to talk!”

She didn't have any luck. The creature continued to attack her and with Maria refusing to fight back, she quickly became overwhelmed and felt how her body got crushed under the “club” of the creature.

When she awoke, she was back in the Astral Clocktower. She let out a deep sigh, of course she wouldn't be able to escape this nightmare by dying in it. She was forced to come back again and again, just like the hunters and the beasts.

She very well remembered what had happened. The creature... the child... They had attacked her. Did they think she was responsible for the death of their mother? While Maria wasn't responsible for Kos' death, the Great One had been dead when they found her, she was responsible for the death of the child.

The child couldn't know that. It got born, saw a dead mother and attacked the first person they thought responsible. In their sense, they were an orphan and upset about it. There were so many things Maria didn't know about the Great Ones, but she was sure that they wouldn't differ in wanting to have the comfort of their parents.

Maria decided to meet the orphan another time and see if she could help. They didn't want to listen to her. They probably weren't aware of them being in a nightmare and Maria just wanted to help.

So she went to the shore another time. The Orphan of Kos, Maria had decided to call them like that, was still there. As soon as she approached them, they were back at attacking her.

“Stop it!”, Maria screamed. “I know you have every right to hate me, but it won't do anything good! We are both stuck in a nightmare!”

Again, Maria was struck down and woke up at the Astral Clocktower. Again, Maria went back to meet the Orphan of Kos.

This time she fought back. If the Orphan didn't want to listen, she would make it listen and if that meant to beat some sense into it, so that it would finally stop attacking her.

Maria had to learn the hard way that the Orphan only got stronger the more it got cornered. She still felt the aftershock of its electric attack when she woke up in her chair again.

Their encounters continued like that. Maria knew that she would be able to just strike the Orphan down if she would get all out, but she despised using her blood powers and she didn't want to strike them down, she wanted to talk. She only fought because the Orphan didn't want to listen.

So they fought each time they met and slowly, Maria mentioned to gain the upper hand, finally having figured out how to best avoid the Orphan's attacks and striking their weak points to make them yield. During this time, she actually cherished not being able to die anymore, that surely gave her infinite tries. Being dead had its merits after all.

Finally, Maria managed to overpower the Orphan, her sword at their throat and her foot on their chest, as they trashed and flailed beneath her.

“Finally.”, Maria said. “Will you finally listen? I only wanted to talk. About all this here. The nightmare around us. The fact that it seems to be a cruel warp of the reality I tried to escape. That the Fishing Hamlet is here. Why you stayed in your mother's belly for so many years. I just want to try and help.” Or did she? Had she really come here just to help? Wasn't she here to find some answers about her suffering...?

There wasn't an answer, just more thrashing and flailing. Maria had to give her best to not be knocked off. “I just want some answers!”, she suddenly cried out, tears welling up in her eyes. Who had decided for her that she should keep living in this nightmare? Who had cursed her for all eternity? Why did she have to relive the things she wanted to forget over and over again.

“Tell me! You are the source of this nightmare, are you not?!”

Maria startled at the sound of her own voice. That wasn't like her. She had always been kind and compassionate, not furious, holding a sword at the throat of what was classified as a toddler.

Wiping the tears out of her eyes, she took a deep breath and looked the Orphan in the eyes... and that is when she noticed it.

“You don't even have a mind...”, she said. “You weren't even allowed to be born. This, all of this, it's just a manifestation of my own guilt and shame.”

Maria removed her Rakuyo from the Orphan's throat and the next thing she knew was that she was back in the Astral Clocktower.

With a sigh, she sat down on the sole chair there, picking up a photograph to look at. “We should have never come to the Hamlet.”, she murmured. “If we had just left Kos alone, nothing of this would have ever happened.”

Maria put the photograph to the side and sank down into her chair. There was no escape out of this nightmare, but she knew what her task in it was. Whoever would make it into it from the waking world, she would step up and prevent them from going further. She would keep the secret of the Hamlet, even in her own death.

Because a corpse should be well left alone. (Author's note: I am not super satisfied with this one, but I hope you enjoy it regardless. Like I said, it was a difficult prompt with a difficult character. Sadly we don't have much lore about Kos and the Orphan of Kos and the Fishing Hamlet is one of the biggest lore messes in the whole world of Bloodborne.)

#bloodborne #fanfiction #lady maria of the astral clocktower #orphan of kos #request fill #march of the whumps #ask answered #thx for the ask #littlewritesstuff #Anonymous

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redantsunderneath · 4 years ago

Text

Snyder Cut shitpost

I want to do a bigger thing about this movie, but can’t until I rewatch Man of Steel and the theatrical Justice League at minimum. There are some threads that I want to follow back and a failing memory isn’t serving me well for detail. This won’t stop be from hot taking, though.

I liked this cut much better than the originally released version, but it was still a mixed bag. Snyder seems to want to make a movie whose heart lies in cathedral mural tableaus, big tall vistas of figures in a primal struggle of ideas. In the prologue and first 2 parts, this dominates, and it is great. For the rest of the body of the movie, the creeping necessity for a concrete plot cuts in, and Snyder isn’t that interested. The big slow mo moments are still there, and they are accompanied by less explosive scenes of relatively quiet building of theme through character relations that work great, but the exposition scenes reflect a boredom of having to tell you all this, and the big action sequences have a lot of connective tissue that seems like a mandated bridge between the shots he cares about.

Part of me (who am I kidding… “part,” heh) wishes they would do a cut that is something like two hours long that’s completely unintelligible. One that no one could possibly understand what the hell was going on but it was just scene after scene of Bruce walking on ice flows, and women pointing swords at boxes. I’d spend 10 years obsessing over it! The scattergraph of number of words spoken to quality of scene would have a good linear fit with negative slope. This is about what I expected, that unfiltered Snyder would show that he always had to handicap his strengths for time but the weaknesses are still there.

The big surprise is that I feel more sympathetic towards Whedon. I need to compare the changes more, but they were asking him to reconfigure a tonal piece, more like a statue or a piece of music, to contract it and inject segments of levity. But there’s no way to do this without ruining what the original version was trying to do. This is in “painter not director” territory. There is a gestalt that supersedes evaluation of the parts, so if you set out to make the characters funnier, the tone less oppressive, and fix the clunkiness whenever there are more words, you probably should restart with a blank canvas or new piece of marble. Since Whedon a) seems kind of shitty and b) is out of favor with the storytelling gods, I was maybe attributing to him a kind of malice or resentment, like the theatrical cut was a him acting out, but it seems more like he’d did what they asked of him. It’s just what they were asking for was to do contracting work to make Frank Lloyd Wright’s Fallingwater feel more inviting to those used to suburban house plans.

Just the color correction is an improvement on the more oppressively dark scenes, and everything flows better and makes more sense. But this thing lives in the slow and diagetically quiet parts and the Fincher-like start early, end late, and don’t cheat anything” editing lets you abide with these rich tones and sensations. Also, it’s clear that it is quite funny, with 2 characters (a “woo” dude and a neurotic wisecracker) allowed to be openly funny and the three main characters full of dry moments and arched eyebrow side glances. The idea it needed everyone to have a Spiderman mode (a la the MCU) was misguided, I think. DC had a problem here, for sure, with a movie having some draggy bits when Snyder was uninterested, and the good stuff took up too much real estate for prospective runtimes, but I think they misunderstood the nature of the issue, thinking it wasn’t Marvel-like enough rather than it was too big to fit through into the van with the only removable parts the soul of the thing (and the unremovable parts more inert and ininspired).

The “chapter” presentation worked well in a story with a more novelic structure. In this kind of story, the preliminaries are usually compressed with each character of the band-we-have-to-get-together getting one scene, often the scene where they pull them out of the bar, or wherever, but here everyone gets multiple POV scenes to establish their arcs. It flows in movements more than acts, but there is a movie structure in there, just not normally apportioned. I have to wonder if reactions would be different if the plan to release it weekly as episodes had happened.

Super worth seeing and analyzing, but it is part of an extended plan, and needs to be judged alongside the other films sequential goals. This is a first blush after one watch, and I reserve the right to change my mind. I will return to this.

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summer-in-cadiz · 3 years ago

Text

On the Move!

Our final couple days in Cadiz allowed me to say goodbye to the city in the way I truly wanted to. It is a place that will always be so special to me... my first time in Europe, my first time living abroad, my first time taking the kind of risk I always dreamed of, and I could not ask for a better newfound home away from home.

I stopped by Mama Carmen’s house to say a final goodbye, and our conversation reflecting about my experience was wonderful. It is funny to think about how intimidated I was that first night at dinner in contrast to our last greeting of me shouting ‘Ay, guapa!’ and her grinning, turning side to side to show me a new haircut. So much comfort grew from where we started as strangers. When I was leaving, Carmen used a phrase that I had not heard before, she said “Hasta Siempre,” instead of ‘Adios.’ This goodbye meant that while we may not see each other for a while, we will always remember one another and hopefully one day reunite. She promised that I’ll always have a room of my own at her place in Cadiz (so long as I keep her updated on Whatsapp!) and I will definitely take her up on that offer in years to come!

While I miss being able to walk the cobblestone streets with ease, there is a surprising silver lining in that I have taken more Spanish taxis now than I ever expected. Now more confident with my Spanish, I love to practice with the drivers, and I have had some of my favorite conversations with locals as I ride through the city in their backseats. These drivers are often incredibly friendly, and every single one I have spoken to has lived in Cadiz his whole life and holds a deep admiration for the city. Be it learning about local food, life among tourists, or the drivers’ personal histories, I am thrilled to feel like I’m finally reaching a point with my Spanish where I can connect with others in conversation easily, even joking around the same way I would in the States.

A few highlights from my taxi cab chats:

- The several drivers that named Cadiz the greatest city in the world... I love how much they love and appreciate their home.

- Me explaining JF’s visit to a driver and him pointing to JF insisting that this Spanish boy could not be my brother... we got some laughs over how obvious it is that I *may* not be from Cadiz :)

- Another awesome driver complimented me on my accent! He said he had spoken with lots of tourists but had no idea where I was from because I spoke with the Cadiz accent so well... ego boost!!

- One of my very last drivers (on a solo ride) shared much of his culture and asked me about my opinions on Spanish life. By the end of the drive we had covered enough ground and shared enough laughs that he asked my name (shoutout to Juan!) and shook my hand. You can find friendly souls everywhere.

I never would have had these conversations or opportunities to practice my speaking skills without my broken foot!

After leaving Carmen’s apartment for that last time, I decided to fulfill a personal goal and crutch my way to the Cathedral. As I slowly made my way, stopping often to take in the ocean view and memorize every moment I could, I felt a deep sense of satisfaction. This was the goodbye I had longed for, a moment alone on the path so freshly familiar to me, feeling a whirlwind of emotions come full circle. When I got to the Cathedral, I sat down and people watched until I noticed an interaction that felt like the perfect lasting impression.

There was a little boy and his mom by the steps of the Cathedral, and the mom was being so wonderful and goofy with her son... making funny noises and voices and jumping around with him. Her son had the biggest grin on his face, and he would jump up two steps and look at her in shock and pride, waiting for her excited applause. This historic, incredible Cathedral was the little kid’s playground for uninhibited joy, and I suddenly started to recall all the moments when I had felt so joyful like that in Cadiz, too.

I think the difference between visiting a place (especially abroad) and living there is that you get comfortable enough to play around. While I recognized how amazing these timeless sites around me were, I am happy that I got to know Cadiz well enough to become relaxed and silly and vibrant in the face of all that awe-inspiration... that I was not so caught up in the idea of taking it in that I did not live it.

After waving goodbye to the little boy and goodbye to my days in Cadiz, I hopped into another taxi and greeted my brother at a hotel. The next morning we came to Sevilla which we are enjoying exploring now, and each day we add new stories to our friendship. More updates to come!

Hasta Siempre.

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darkdevasofdestruction · 5 years ago

Text

When You Save Them

Risotto Nero

“STOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOP!” you cried out desperately as you stood above Risotto’s fatally wounded form, just as 4 people arrived at the scene. “Y/N...Run away...” he coughed some blood on the ground, trying - and failing - to get up. “Don’t move, Risotto! You’re only going to injure yourself more. Let me handle this, the way it should have been done from the very beginning!” you growled in anger and pent-up frustration. “I’ve...Never heard you scream before. Y/N, this is Buccellati’s gang, the one we’ve been fighting.” Riz explained, which only made you grit your teeth. “You’ve been fighting for nothing! Buccellati, you were sent to bring Trish back to the Boss...So why are you here, running away? That only means you’ve betrayed the Boss for some reason! And if you’ve betrayed the Boss, it means we’re on the same side! The enemy of my enemy is my friend, isn’t that the saying?” you asked, trying to find a way to negotiate. “We’ve been trying to take over the Mafia.” the blond boy spoke up. “Saving Trish was our way of trying to find out and dethrone the Boss.” he explained simply. “La Squadra Esecuzioni was trying to steal Trish away to find out the Boss’ identity. You both have been killing each other while trying to achieve the same goal. Don’t you get it?! You could’ve worked together! Have a temporary truce, at least! This could’ve all been avoided if only we communicated in some way! The Boss manipulated the both of us to kill each other so he’d get rid of anyone who’d try to find out who he is!” you tried to reason, feeling tears fall down your cheeks. “How could you benefit us, then? The only one still standing in La Squadra is you, Risotto. The Capo.” Buccellati asked in a firm tone. “Capo? Capo over what?! Over ashes?! We were La Squadra! We were a family! And now they’re all gone! Because of that fucking monster! Risotto can’t be Capo anymore because he has nobody to lead!” you stomped the ground in anger. “But, Buccellati, if you promise to let us run away from this place, I can help you find out who the Boss is! Instead of making that guy down there try to see how the boss looked so many years ago...Get him here and make him find out what happened in Risotto’s fight, since he almost killed the Boss!” you cried out as a group of multiple gasps was heard. “You...Fought the Boss...?” the shorter one stared in shock. “Bring Abbacchio here.” Buccellati told the guy with the hat, and he did as ordered. “I was hiding behind those rocks so he wouldn’t see me, but I saw all the fight going on. That guy had pink hair, just like Trish. And he has trying to hide a photograph desperately. His Stand is very dangerous...I can’t tell what it is though...” you got into detail, telling them everything you found out, as Abbacchio used his Stand to discover the person who attacked Riz, only for him to speak. “It’s as if he could predict some of my moves. I don’t know what it was, but be cautious when fighting him, you won’t get him so easily.” Riz finally explained what happened, getting in a sitting position. “I can’t fight anymore and I’d only get in your way if I were to come help you out, but if I could, I would. The Boss took my whole Squadra away from me, and I will never forgive him for that. However, I’m going to keep on living, at least for Y/N’s sake, and by the time I get home, I hope I’ll hear of Buccellati’s gang’s victory.” he closed his eyes solemnly for a while, before pushing himself to stand up. “Very well. We thank you for your cooperation and we are thankful that you willingly stepped on your pride to give us information, so you could protect your lover. Down the road, there was a car. You can take it to go away, to safety.” Buccellati gave you his blessing to get the hell away from there.

You helped Risotto stand up and you both rushed down the road as fast as you could, and put him in the passenger’s seat, and standing there, looking at him, you could feel a few tears prickling at your eyes, seeing him in such a pitiful state.

“Don’t...Ever, in your life, do that again.” you muttered, biting your lip. “I’m sorry, Y/N. We’re in the Mafia, and I, of all people, was the Capo of La Squadra Esecuzioni. I should have been the first to easily accept death...But seeing you here today...I just can’t accept not seeing you again. I can’t accept you shedding tears over someone like me. You’re my angel, and even though I don’t deserve to have an angel’s love, I will be selfish and live.” Risotto’s low voice echoed, as he reached out his hand to touch your cheek and wipe away the stray tears streaming your skin. “Don’t ever say that again, please, and don’t even think about leaving me alone.” you whispered, planting a soft kiss on his lips, afraid that he’ll break. “Now, let’s go home and get you fixed up. I’ve done enough worrying for one day. Let others deal with this problem...For now, I’m not letting you out of my sight ever again.” you chuckled weakly, before getting in the driver’s seat and drove home.

---

Caesar Zeppeli

As soon as Caesar got pissed off at Joseph for insulting his family, he ran away to defeat Wham, which got both the boy and Lisa Lisa worried and went looking for him. You, however, got worried for him and decided to run off after him almost as soon as you saw him closing the gate, and fearing about his feelings getting hurt and potentially getting in trouble, you traced his steps in the snow, getting in front of a ruined building that looked like an abandoned cathedral.

You were reluctant to get inside, afraid of potentially getting killed, but all your worries went down the drain once you heard groans of pain and agony from inside, and now a much bigger dread came over you.

As soon as you burst inside the place, and you saw Caesar on his knees, bloody and bruised from top to bottom. Seeing your lover in such a pitiful state only made you go insane with rage, so much that you leaped over, punching the enemy with the most powerful Hamon you could manage, making him fly through the wall behind him, giving you enough time to get Caesar and take him out of there, thankfully meeting Lisa Lisa and Joseph just outside the place.

“Y/N! What happened?!” Joseph yelled, getting over to you, helping you carry a barely conscious Caesar. “It’s one of those Pillar Men, he’s inside. I managed to get him away from us so I could rescue Caesar, but I’m not sure how long it will keep him there.” you explained, biting your lip in worry. “Can you get him home by yourself? I and Joseph will deal with the enemy, so don’t worry about us or getting tailed by the enemy.” Lisa Lisa put her hand on your shoulder as a way to calm you down. “Yeah, I can manage on my own, but please, both of you, be very careful there. If that guy alone could get Caesar in this state...Who knows what more could happen.” you sighed, giving them a pleading look to be careful. “We’ll take care of those bastards, Y/N. Now go take care of Caesarino here, we’ll be juuuuust fine!” Joseph gave us a wink and you started dragging the blond boy back to the house, where you got him in bed and tended to his wounds carefully.

It took a few hours for him to properly regain his conscience, and the first thing he saw as he woke up was the beautiful shade of your eyes.

“Y/N...? What happened?” his voice was rather weak, but he managed to get in a sitting position by himself. “Well...Joseph and Lisa Lisa are fighting Wham, I believe. I got you out of there before things would get worse...Damn it, Caesar, you really worried me. Going off on your own like that...And seeing you almost dead...You’re really gonna give me nightmares.” you sighed, your gaze shifting away. “I...I acted pretty rash, didn’t I? I was stupid, I know...That stupid Joseph pissed me off, I was feeling pressured and...I guess it was too much for me. I messed up.” he nodded, taking your hand in his, kissing every knuckle. “Thank you for saving me, amore mio...And I’m sorry for worrying you so much. I’m sorry for making you go through all the trouble of saving me.” he signaled for you to get closer to him. “I’m not mad at you, darling. I’m just happy that I got there in time to save you. Nothing else matters, right? You’re alive, you’re in no critical condition and JoJo and Lisa Lisa are going to defeat that jerk.” you sighed in relief, as he put you into his chest, kissing the top of your head. “I promise I won’t be a stubborn jerk and I won’t worry you again. I promise you, mi tesoro, that as soon as this whole mess with the Pillar Men is over, I will marry you and I will take you to see the world and I will make you the happiest person in the world.” he kissed your lips, gently caressing your face and gazing into your eyes with so much love. “I would love that. I really would.” you smiled tenderly at him, sharing yet another passionate kiss, enjoying the peace and quiet of the room.

--- Abbacchio Leone

You were on the beach, waiting between the space where Abbacchio was using Moody Blues to find out the Boss’ identity, while the others were up the cliff, checking out what Narancia’s Aerosmith found and attacked on its radar.

You kept looking around with your Stand, trying to make sure nobody will attack, when you notice a bunch of kids playing around with their ball, until it got stuck in a high place and couldn’t get it.

You watched your grumpy boyfriend go over and help them out, despite how annoyed he was, but it didn’t matter, he looked adorable, towering over a bunch of giggly kids.

That is...Until you blinked and a hole suddenly appear in his torso, which made you cry out his name, rushing to his side, catching him just as he was about to fall and helping him down on the stone that was surrounded by beautiful white flowers, as pure as his soul.

Thanking everything in your life that your Stand was capable of healing, you started your work on the man that lay helplessly in your arms, as you heard frantic footsteps coming your way.

On further inspection, you realised it was the gang, so you relaxed a bit, focusing on saving him.

“Leone, baby, my dearest, my darling, please, I beg of you, don’t close your eyes. I’m here now. Please, sweetling, stay with me.” you felt tears of desperation and anguish rapidly streaming down your face as you kept using your Stand to heal your beloved, while he kept looking at you with a tired expression. “I’m...Sorry.” he groaned in pain, not only from the grave injury, but from the painful healing method too. “Y/N! Y/N, please, please don’t let Abbacchio die! You can’t let him die!” Narancia cried, shaking you whilst he was hugging you. “Narancia, stop bothering them while they’re healing Abbacchio. They need to concentrate. Come on, let’s go away and give them some space.” Bruno pried away the kid from your side, letting you alone with your paramour. “Did you find out who did it...?” he managed to croak out, making you shake your head. “No...Not yet, amore, but we will, I promise. We will get revenge for what he did to you, I vow you that. But for now, please, don’t force yourself to talk or anything...You’re already in so much pain...I-I can’t bear seeing you like this.” you spoke out through your tears, which made him let out an exhausted chuckle. “Almost dying makes me want to tell you so many things...So many that I’ve been afraid to say, that I’ve been to afraid to even feel...” he spoke, realising that he regained some of his strength. “You can tell me anything you want as soon as we get home, mi tesoro. We WILL get home, I promise you that. You will be be okay in no time.” you move the hair from his face, looking at him tenderly. “We gotta help Buccellati...” he closed his eyes for a few seconds, before opening them again. “We can deal with that later. You already did your job and we’re so very close to finding the Boss. You managed to show the gang how the Boss looks...I’m sure they can deal with the rest by themselves. I’m sure Buccellati will understand the situation...Please, Abba, I really don’t want to see you in this state ever again. You have no idea what I’m feeling seeing you this way.” you frown, holding him close to your chest, stroking his hair. “I can’t imagine what would a peaceful life be like, but as long as I have you by my side, I won’t care about anything else in the world.” he sighed, almost content. “After we defeat the Boss, everything will be okay. You know that Buccellati will make the Mafia a better and more moral place, just as it should be. And nobody’s gonna bother us again. We can spend all day making fun of Narancia...And Giorno...And at night we can look at the stars, at the beach, with out feet in the water and drink wine and...And we will be happy.” you kissed his temple gently, making him lean in your touch. “Hah...Yeah...I wanna see that little blond brat drink my piss again.” he chuckled weakly, taking my hand in his. “Oh, come on, you’re incredible.” you chuckled at how petty your boyfriend was. “Nah, darling, I’m just a good for nothing, average guy. You’re the incredible one here.” he retorted, feeling strong enough to steal a kiss.

----

Kishibe Rohan

You cursed yourself when you found out from Koichi, who used Echoes to find out Rohan’s location, that the man was being attacked by Kira’s Sheer Heart Attack and had no way of using Heaven’s door to protect himself, so you started running in that direction, leaving the silver haired boy greatly behind, only to see your green haired boyfriend trying his best to escape from the bomb.

You and Koichi encountered it before, when you were searching together with Jotaro, so you got the gist of how to avert its attention to you, so it will leave him alone.

Since your body was already heated up from the running, the stupid little bomb started following you, instead of focusing on Rohan.

The problem is...That you didn’t really have a proper plan, other than making sure Rohan’s okay, so now your were stuck running through the darker alleys of the city, hoping not to run into any innocent citizen and get collateral damage.

Last time, Koichi used his Act 3 Echoes to stop the bomb...But that was it, it was merely stopped, not defeated. Now, you wonder...Okuyasu’s Stand COULD make it go into some weird, different dimension, right? So all you gotta do is get him around!

“Y/N, you idiot, what the hell were you thinking?!” Rohan’s pissed off voice echoed through the place as he ran to me. “Rescuing you, of course!" you chuckled, grabbing his hand and running to Koichi. “Oh, really? Rescuing me? How, getting yourself killed?!” he sneered in annoyance. “Didn’t get enough time to think of a plan, but I’ve got something! Koichi, use Echoes on the bomb! There’s a payphone, so we’ll call Okuyasu to get here and make this thing disappear with his Stand.” you quickly explained the plan, making the silver haired boy gasp in realisation. “You’re right, that could work! Echoes, Act 3! Freeze attack!” he says, making the bomb sink into the pavement, as you quickly ran to the payphone and thankfully managed to get a hold of Okuyasu, getting him to run to your location pretty fast.

The whole ordeal was solved pretty fast, but you were still left with a bitter taste since nobody had any idea where Kira was, how he managed to find Rohan alone and attack him...And there were still so many more questions left unanswered.

“You absolute chaotic mess! You complete dumbass! What the hell was in your head, even?! NOTHING! That’s what it was! Nothing, with a capital N!” Rohan sighed in aggravation as soon as the 2 of you were left alone. “Sorry for panicking and wanting to make sure you were okay?” you replied, unsure of what to say. “That’s not the issue! You could have died, going all Leeroy Jenkins like that! What would I have done if you died for me? Huh? Tell me!” he seemed to tremble with all sorts of emotions. “Rohan...Look, babe, I’m sorry for worrying you, but what would I have done if you were to die and I did nothing?” you asked, crossing your arms with a pout. “Okay, okay...I’m calm now. I’m calm. Good. So, let’s make this clear. We’re not heroes, so let’s not act like heroes. Now, let’s go home. My manga isn’t gonna get drawn itself, is it?” he blushed slightly, grabbing your hand and dragging you back home. “Oh, really? You have inspiration?” you grinned at him, trying to keep walking at his face. “Well, of course I have! I bet everyone will love to see the protagonist get saved from death by his reckless lover by going on a suicide-mission. I’m really curious to hear what everyone’s opinion on the lover is, since honestly, I feel like killing you myself, then bringing you back to life to kiss you until you can’t breath.” he stopped suddenly, turning to look at you with an unreadable expression. “Can we skip the killing part to get to the kissing? I’d like that very much.” you grinned, holding his other hand too. “Fine, have it your way, then.” he smirked, before cupping your face and kissing you passionately, not caring if there were any passer-bys around.

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dundunny · 3 years ago

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Review: Assassin’s Creed III

I have to first make a disclaimer that I started this game in 2018 so my memories of the earlier parts are a little hazier. This probably is down with the first game as one of the worst in the series. Let me start by saying the franchise hasn't impressed me: The characters aren't very interesting and the plot is dumb, but I love climbing all over historical urban environments. I haven't played Assassin's Creed II since the early 2010s, but to this day I can remember with startling clarity parkouring Ezio up the cathedral in Florence.

Assassin's Creed III doesn't really have that. Boston and New York in the 1700s haven't created the architecture that's jaw-dropping enough to draw interest; hell, a good portion of New York is fucking burned down. So the vast majority of the game is wilderness. And herein lies the studio's problem with game design since day one: They create massive environments, but there isn't a lot of stuff in them. What they do is construct famous landmarks with fine detail, but the everyday buildings people live in look exactly the same and there isn't enough visual difference for me to navigate or even care about what I'm looking at. Let me compare to Arkham Knight. Yes, storefronts were replicated, but in my head I can still remember the lighthouse by the movie studio, the intersection for Gotham's version of Time Square, how the train tracks moves through that Eiffel Tower thing, the Halloween balloon floats by the GCPD, the shops underground below the skyscrapers, and the dock area on the southern part of Founder's Island. If I'm asked to even vaguely lay out a city map for Boston or New York, I've literally got nothing. Ubisoft just made bunch of skins for buildings and plastered it everywhere.

This is massively worse in the "frontier" because if you've seen one tree or log, you've seen them all here. Oh, I can recall the coastline to the west and east, where the fortresses are, Lexington, Monmouth, etc. But it's not fun to run through. Let's take another game, Breath of the Wild. Most of that game was climbing up the side of mountains or fighting in forests or swimming up a waterfall. I haven't played that game in a long time, but I still can vividly recollect shrines, ponds, cottages, stabbing enemies on scaffolding over a ravine, finding a tower surrounded by tar, the beautiful rocks around Zora's Domain, stumbling upon dragon skeletons... Exploration was the reward in that game. It's just not in Assassin's Creed III. Yeah, there are the feathers or treasure boxes, but I just indifference. As I said, tree 1 looks basically the same as tree 384.

The next issue is Connor. He's just boring as character. Altair went from douchebag to humble leader, Ezio was cool in everything he did, but Connor... I don't think he ever really knew what he was doing. His thing is revenge, specifically against Charles Lee for burning down his village and killing his mother. Everything else he did was really trying to put roses on his actions. Yeah, Ezio's was vengeance as well, but he really became a leader who furthered the Assassin cause. Conner... well, he made the homestead but just kinda invited people to live there and none of them were assassins. He meanders his way to his end goal by saying he wants to protect his village but ends up killing those of his people who don't agree with his methods (including his childhood friend). He allies himself with the Patriots, even though it should be very evident they don't like Native Americans any more than the British, and then is surprised when he learns Washington has killed some of his people. Also his voice actor is not very good. Really, I would've preferred to play the game as Haytham and I was so sad when we found out he was a Templar.

Assassin's Creed III also closes the Desmond arc. The premise behind the franchise is interesting—that you can access memories of your ancestors through your DNA—but as the series progressed I found the modern-day portion to become the most farcical part. Yeah, it was cool back in Assassin's Creed II when you saw the first glimpses of the "truth" and realized there was this ancient civilization that the Assassins are probably descended from. But then we learn that everything was destroyed in a solar flare (which somehow causes massive earthquakes?) and we have to stop it from happening again. Ubisoft, is that the best you can come up with? Where the hell did that come from? You walked away from that conference room thinking that was a good idea? When Desmond has to make his big decision about his fate and that of the world, at this point I'm just incredulous about the whole situation that it means nothing to me.

However that section does provide the funniest part of the whole game: When Desmond breaks into Abstergo, for some reason he and all the guards are drawing swords on each other. Why? It's literally 2012. Why aren't you all using guns? Can you imagine touring the White House and all the secret service are sporting scimitars instead of a glock?

So yeah, this was a very underwhelming installment. Normally I try to collect as much as possible and play the DLC because even after all my bitching Assassin's Creed is still fun to play, but I didn't have the emotional attachment or amusement to put in the extra effort. Hopefully the next game will be better.

#assassin's creed #assassin's creed iii #connor #ratonhnhaketon #desmond miles

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halothenthehorns · 3 years ago

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THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP

Sirius cradled the book in his hands for a moment, a curiously contemplative look on his face, pretending he couldn't hear James mumbling under his breath, "he got to read about Harry's Championship game last year- can't believe he gets all the good ones."

Sirius, unbelievably, didn't even hesitate as he gave the book a toss back and said, "knock yourself out Prongs."

James caught it with fumbling fingers and was still blinking in shock at his best friend, causing Sirius to smirk all the wider as he shrugged and said, "what, I'm not going to argue the point. You're right, I got a whole Quidditch game where Harry won, you should get the lesser of them with just some stupid World Cup."

James couldn't resist sticking his tongue out at him for the picking, he knew reverse psychology when he heard it, but it wasn't going to work! Sirius had given this up, and he wasn't getting it back!

They joined the throng of people heading into the trail, every camper on premises shouting, singing, and causing the air itself to fill with excitement.

Lily more than agreed. She wasn't even fond of the sport and she held an ever growing smile on her face, all the boys in the room acting like they were on a sugar high they were so excited to be hearing about this. It had certainly been built up enough.

Harry couldn't wipe a smile off his face as they made it through the forest, and wound up in the shadows of the largest stadium Harry had ever seen. It was solid gold and so large he could imagine several whole cathedrals fitting inside. Mr. Weasley noticed the look of awe on Harry's face and happily said it seated a hundred thousand!

"And gets sold out every year," Remus added on, all of them also grinning at the look now back on Harry's face.

They made their way to one of the entrances where a cheerful woman inspected their tickets and informed them they were in prime seats.

"Top Box!" Sirius all but screamed in remembered excitement!

To get to the Top Box, she informed Arthur all he had to do was climb as high as they could go through the stairwell.

Remus once again couldn't help but think 'did everyone in the world know Arthur' but he was too busy laughing that James was half yelling as he read with overflowing enjoyment so he didn't bother.

They hit the stairs, watching as people slowly trickled out around them to their seats, until finally they found their place where only twenty chairs were available. The view was spectacular, perfectly positioned between the two goal posts. The field below was of the brightest green, the stands looked more like dots from this position, and directly across from them was a backboard where advertisements were currently being scrawled across.

Harry's eyes kept getting wider the more he remembered that place, thinking it nearly put the Hogwarts Quidditch field to shame with its massiveness, something he never would have believed possible before this moment.

James and Sirius, having only attended one themselves previously, were flashing grins at each other in remember exuberance of how that match had gone, having always wanted to take their kids one day, and getting to hear this play out through Harry now the closest they'd yet got to that dream, so this was practically wish fulfillment to them!

Remus and Lily had never gone to one, and the immense size and splendor of this spectacle was actually starting to blow their mind.

Harry only watched a few before he began inspecting his own area more closely, as he and his group filled in the first row. Almost directly behind him, he instead spotted a tiny little creature.

Harry did a double take at that, his mind caught off guard by the sudden unexpected visit he thought he was getting from, "Dobby?"

"What?" The others squawked in surprise.

Harry was frowning in puzzled confusion, placing his hand to his temple in agitation as the moment left him, and he was left floundering to explain. "I, I'm not sure. Just, looking around, thought I spotted him." He was still grimacing, so James decided to keep reading to clarify an answer.

Its face was buried in its hands, but it still had large bat like ears and was wearing a tea towel for clothes, all giving Harry a strong remembrance of Dobby.

The fact that Harry thought this twice didn't necessarily mean he was right, he would have thought the same thing twice in a row with his memories being replenished in the style they were. It would definitely be something that needed to be explained if it was Dobby, since they hadn't heard of the little guy for over a year now, in Harry's time.

It glanced up at the name, and the image was ruined as Harry instead found large brown eyes and a squashed button nose.

"Not Dobby then," Sirius stated.

"Thank you, Captain Obvious," Remus snorted.

"You're welcome, Lieutenant Canis,*" Sirius shot back.

That wasn't Dobby, but it was a house-elf like Dobby had been.

"Had been?" Lily giggled. "You mean is, or was in that instance."

Harry rolled his eyes, he wasn't the one who'd written this down.

Dobby used to be enslaved to the Malfoy family before Harry had tricked them into releasing him. The little one in front of him now squeaked Dobby's name in surprise in an even higher pitch then Dobby's tone, and though it was hard to tell, Harry hazard a guess this one was female. Ron and Hermione looked around in surprise as well, never having met Dobby themselves, but having heard of him through Harry.

"Huh, never realized that before," James muttered randomly, completely unconcerned now that it wasn't Dobby and wanting to get back to the Cup!

Even Mr. Weasley looked around in interest.

"Did you tell him about Dobby?" Remus asked in surprise.

"Not directly," Harry shrugged, "but maybe Ron did, or the voice just got him curious. It did stick out."

Harry apologized for the confusion, but the elf squeaked back that she knew of Dobby.

Lily started humming 'It's a Small World After All' under her breath in surprise, but since this was one of the least strangest or coincidental things that had happened to Harry, she didn't mention it.

She still had her face half buried in her fingers, looking anywhere but at the open space in front of them as she greeted that her name was Winky, then deduced that he was Harry Potter.

"Brilliant deduction skills on this one," Sirius grumbled under his breath, not having appreciated one bit the last elf Harry had to deal with, hoping this one wouldn't have anything at all to do with his pup.

When Harry agreed he was, Winky explained that Dobby spoke of Harry Potter all the time. Harry asked how he was doing, and Winky sighed in disappointment, saying freedom wasn't doing him any favors.

"Has she ever met the Malfoy's," Remus demanded in disgust. "I think she should hold that to herself until otherwise."

Harry asked if he was okay, and Winky explained that his newfound freedom was going to his head. He was looking for a new position, but no one would take him, because he wanted to be paid now.

By the stunned look of the others, it didn't take much for Harry to ascertain, "so that's weird then."

"Absolutely," James nodded, his mind actually derailed, partially enough his tone wasn't as high pitched as Winky's from excitement at least. "Never heard of a thing like that."

"I think it's cute," Lily shrugged, a small frown still on her face at the thought of that elf. "I'd take him up on that offer in a heartbeat."

"Let's hope you're not the only one," Remus shrugged.

Harry glanced at Sirius, who he'd noticed had stayed absent, and couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking. Sirius had made it perfectly clear he certainly wasn't fond of elves, what would he think of this? He said nothing though, and Harry was certain if he really cared he would have, so Harry didn't bring it up.

Harry asked why shouldn't he be paid? Winky explained that only a tainted elf would want such a thing, elves took pride in their work and Dobby was shaming their kind by going round like this! If he kept up like he was, he'd wind up in front of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical creatures.

"That would be a first I'm sure," Remus muttered.

Harry was frowning now as he said he was glad to hear Dobby was trying to have some fun, but Winky said back stoutly that house-elves weren't meant to have fun.

Sirius watched Harry and Lily start to look rather confused and upset by this, so he groused, "This one's starting to depress me as much as the last one, can't she just let it go?" with an eye roll. Personally, he didn't hate Dobby as much as he initially had, not after he'd at least tried to save Harry, been abused by the Malfoy's for years, and Harry now considered him a friend. He still wasn't sure what Harry and Lily's big fuss about them were though. This little Winky was acting the way any other elf would.

They do what they're told and that's that. She then explained that though she was terrified of heights, her master had told her to come save his seat, and that's what she was doing.

"Ooh, that's terrible," Lily half cooed, half looked like she was going to start scolding any second. "That wizard couldn't have sent up anyone else, their friend or anything, instead of the elf he knows is afraid of heights."

"He might not know," James offered, "not to many wizards bother to get to know the likes and dislikes of their elves."

"And I doubt she'd inform him," Sirius nodded in agreement.

"It's odd enough to bring your elf to this type of thing," Remus shrugged, looking to break up Lily's agitated face that James hardly sounded more concerned about this then Sirius. "So I'm sure there was some reason." 'Hope the Malfoy's didn't get another one' he privately added in his head, thinking that wouldn't go down well with anyone.

He then looked to James to keep going, which he happily did, thinking they were getting way too worked up over an elf.

Harry was frowning in sorrow now as he asked why her master would do that if he knew she was afraid of heights? Winky explained again that she'd been asked to save a seat, as her master was too busy to come just yet, gesturing slightly to the empty chair beside her.

Harry felt like a tap dancer was running up his spine all of a sudden. Something, there was something right there...his body gave a great shudder of protest at his prolonging on trying to think on this for even a second, and he let lose a great gasp of surprise before he sagged back into the couch and glared balefully around the room in agitation, muttering the usual 'sorry, memories, nothing.'

The other's did not look happy, in fact they were getting pretty concerned at how often Harry was doing that even before he went to school this time, but what could they do?

Winky didn't want to be up here, but she was doing as she was told like a good elf. She gave one last terrified whimper at the edge of their box, then buried her face in her hands again. Harry turned back to talk to his friends, Ron asking if all house-elves acted like that?

Sirius suddenly gasped, and looked likely to fall off the couch, causing the others to jump in concern as he turned a stunned look to Harry and demanded, "I've just realized, you haven't been to the kitchens yet!"

"Err no," Harry said uneasily, still rather concerned by his overreaction.

As were the others apparently as James swatted at him and snapped, "you almost gave me a heart attack! Of course he hasn't you dolt, we would have heard about that."

"But, he's entering his fourth year," Sirius added on, looking from James to Remus and back like they were missing the biggest of pictures. "We could have walked down there blindfolded by then!"

"I'm going to strangle you," Lily told him pleasantly, "and Merlin help me I never thought I'd say this, but James get back to your game before I do."

Sirius was still eyeing Harry like he was truly concerned for his wellbeing at this slip, but James was happy to oblige.

Harry just shrugged back and said that Dobby had been weirder. Ron had lost interest already, and was instead using his omnioculars to people watch the crowd below, exclaiming in excitement when he used his rewind feature to make a man below pick his nose over and over again.

Shattering all the annoyed looks at Sirius for them to begin snickering at Ron. Sirius gave a slight pout, that's what he'd been trying to do, clearly they were being overly sensitive. Though upon reflection, after the past few days they'd had, he supposed it had been just a tad uncalled for.

Hermione was looking through her program, telling how both teams had brought a mascot that would do a small show before the game.

"The Irish always bring leprechauns," Remus quickly told Harry before he could ask.

"Bit of a bore really," Sirius nodded, "you'd think they'd try to break their stereotype."

"I do wonder what the Bulgarians will bring," Lily admitted.

Mr. Weasley had heard and quickly said that's always a fun show, both teams trying to one up each other with something native to their land.

As time kept passing, more people came into their box, and Arthur got up to shake the hand of several very important wizards.

"I really don't think Ron can call his dad's job boring anymore," James muttered, finding Arthur's presence more and more charming as this continued.

Percy kept hopping out of his seat so often he looked like he was trying to sit on a porcupine.

Causing all five of them to start snickering, that wasn't too hard to picture, especially as they could see the twins doing this to him on purpose.

When Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic himself arrived, Percy bowed so low that his glasses fell off and shattered.

"Why's he bowing at them anyways," Lily giggled. "They're not the monarchy."**

"Trying to show off?" Remus offered with a shrug.

Looking thoroughly embarrassed with himself, he fixed his glasses and quickly retook his seat, throwing jealous looks at Harry who Fudge greeted like his best friend.

"You become the stupid Boy Who Lived," Harry grumbled, "then he'll butter up to you just fine."

They had met before, and Fudge shook Harry's hand in a fatherly fashion,

James could not get that out without a hard bite to his words, it sounding all the more harsh sense his recent spike of this same feeling towards his own best friend. He didn't need some stranger acting that part as well.

asking how his summer had been, then introducing him to the Bulgarian minister in too loud tones.

"I never understood that," Remus snorted. "Talking loudly does not make them understand you any better."

"Don't ask us," Lily shrugged.

Fudge was trying to get through a language barrier, repeating his full name several times, but it wasn't until the Bulgarian caught sight of Harry's scar that he began babbling in excitement.

Harry was the only one who let out a surprised bit of laughter at that, with a rather hard edge, finding it funny his scar did a better job than the Minister. He did ponder on why he was being so harsh towards the man who hadn't really done anything to him?

Fudge sighed as he said to them that he'd been having to deal with that all day. He really needed Crouch around.

"Is he the only linguistic in the whole ministry?" Sirius snorted.

"I would have thought at least the Minister would bother to learn some for this upcoming game," Remus nodded in agreement, as he would have known he'd be meeting at least a few foreign dignitaries.

Then he noticed his house-elf was saving a seat.

"That's Crouch's elf," Lily grumbled, this not making her feel any better.

"Guess I'm not surprised," Remus shrugged, "his is as old a house as any."

Then he spotted the newcomers, Lucius

James spat out that last word in shock, which quickly turned into a haughty glare. Of course those Malfoy's would have to get the Top Box as well, Harry couldn't go five minutes without having to deal with their pompous arse! He would probably turn all sorts of jealous when he found out the Weasley's were up there with them, and they'd gotten in for free, because Arthur had done a good deed! Teach them a lesson!

There was a bit of grumbling all around from the others, but as all they could do was protest, James slogged on. He wanted to get to the game already, and hopefully ignore the existence of those particular purebloods.

his son Draco, and who must be the wife and mother.

Harry felt a flash of something he didn't quite understand as he first remembered this woman, was that warmth? Not quite as much as he'd felt about learning of Mrs. Weasley, but there was definitely something there... it was gone the moment he caught sight of his godfather.

Sirius' face gave a particularly ugly sneer at the mention of one of his relatives, having never liked Narcissa anymore than her sister Bellatrix. Both had their noses so high in the air it was a wonder they didn't drown in the rain.

She looked very much like Draco, the same platinum blonde hair, and a crinkled up nose suggesting she smelled dung close by.

"I'm sure it's the presence she's forced to live with, herself," Sirius muttered.

Mr. Malfoy greeted the Minister with a familiar handshake, and Fudge was delighted to meet Lucius' family, giving his wife Narcissa a delightful compliment and greeting Draco just as happily. Then Fudge introduced them to the Bulgarian Minister of Magic, whom he couldn't pronounce the name of, then moved on to say he knew they must know the Weasley's.

"Like he knows the bottom of his shoe," Remus grumbled, then he remembered the last time those two had met, and he cracked up laughing at the expense of Malfoy senior again. He quickly filled in the others, at least giving James back a smile as he continued.

It was not a pleasant reunion, as the last time Arthur and Lucius had been in the same room, Arthur had hit him in the face with a book during their fight.

"Which Arthur won, with brilliant irony," Sirius cackled.

"A book on toadstools, can't forget that part," James agreed.

Mr. Malfoy's eyes were cold as ice chips as he asked in the worst of slights how he'd managed to get up here, surely he hadn't sold his house, it would never collect this much money.

Harry ground his teeth together hard in frustration, knowing he couldn't have said anything at the time, but always the most agitated when people made dig's at the Weasley's like that!

Fudge, who wasn't listening,

"Pity that," Lily snapped, "as he was showing his real face right then!"

happily explained to all who were listening that Lucius was up here as his personal guest, as he'd just made a large donation to St. Mungo's.

Remus mimed retching off the side of the couch in revulsion, something they all heartily agreed with. At least it was a good cause, if for the wrong reasons.

Mr. Weasley managed to get out how nice that was of him with a strained smile.

"Sad he can't mean it," James sighed.

Lucius' eyes then landed on Hermione, who flushed at the attention, but glared back defiantly.

"That'a girl," Lily nodded with a proud smile.

Harry knew why Mr. Malfoy would look down on her like that, as Hermione was muggle-born, something that Malfoy as a pureblood

"Pure of a conscience," Sirius muttered.

found a second rate person at best.

"She won't be so second-class when she knocks your son's lights out again," Remus happily smirked.

With the Minister of Magic watching though, no one could say much more as the Malfoy's took their seats. Thankfully Bagman chose that moment to arrive, asking if they were ready to get this show on the road? Fudge agreed they were waiting on him.

James was just thanking his lucky stars this chapter hadn't tried to end right here! All this buildup, and he would have had to try and convince Harry to give up the chapter next!

Bagman pulled out his wand, used the Sonorous spell, which made his voice magnify loud enough every corner of the stadium could hear him announce the start of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!

James was pretty close to sounding like he had the same charm placed on him, making the baby wriggle uncomfortably in Sirius' lap, but then he cooed gently to his godson, which seemed to convince the baby it was all in good fun as he relaxed back into his arms.

The board across from them wiped itself clean one more time, and then sported the score, which currently read at 0 0. Then Bagman began to introduce the Bulgarian mascots, Veela.

"Uhoh," Remus said in a happy little singsong voice.

"That wasn't their brightest idea," Sirius snickered.

"But a plentiful distraction," James cackled with glee.

"What are Veela?" Harry inserted, a puzzled frown on his face, that old agitation never waning where the answer should have been.

Lily chose to explain, "they're human like girls, with a very beautiful exterior used to draw in men, sort of like land sirens. They're not quite so much to look at when they get angry though," she finished with an odd smile.

Harry was still very curious indeed, wondering at that 'human like' part. Were they like Remus, human but with a touch of something else, or like centaurs, a touch of human but mostly something else? He decided to wait it out and see for himself.

Harry began to ask what Veela were, but then he was given the answer by a group of beautiful women dancing onto the field.

Causing all four of them to crack up laughing at Harry's expense, who was now doing his best to detail every inch of the carpet, still unable to hide his bright red face.

They couldn't be fully human though, there was something to graceful about their feet, a little too much perfection in their almost glowing skin, the white hair that fanned behind them without help. Then music began, and Harry hadn't a worry in the world.

"Ah magic," Sirius said with a dreamy look in place.

"He'll do that every time these are mentioned," James snorted, "apparently he met one once when he got dragged on holiday, and it was the best night of his life."

"You're just jealous," Sirius' gray eyes were gleaming as he flashed his teeth in a wide grin at both of his friends.

"Actually, we just don't believe you," Remus shot back.

Sirius looked very much like he was going to argue, but James had already heard this so much he could have quoted both parties, so he kept going loudly over the two.

The longer they danced, the more Harry could not seem to look away, nor did he want to, as he knew that if they ever stopped the world would end.

Lily was now uncontrollably giggling, her fist pressed hard to her mouth as she easily pictured that expression on her poor unwitting son, though he in no way resembled that now. He most certainly remembered that feeling, but was not experiencing it, instead he had switched his attention and was now mentally memorizing the ceiling.

The more elaborate the routine below, Harry began to think that he should do something equally impressive right back.

"This ought to be fun," Remus' grin broadened as he finished matching Sirius' glare and instead tried to poke some fun at Harry, who was still trying to mime a statue of complete disinterest, but mostly failing.

He considered jumping from the box, but would it be good enough?

"Most impressive," James snorted, "as you would break your neck in a spectacular way." He was now more than happy Harry was in a magical box that would not allow that to happen.

Hermione's voice shot through his fog of a brain as she asked what on earth he was doing, standing on the edge like that? Ron was in a similar pose like he was about to jump off a diving board.

Some of the blood rush to his face dulled back down slightly as he realized at least he hadn't been the only one, Ron had clearly been affected by that as well, though this didn't lessen the laughter in the room one jot.

The Veela's were done now anyways, and several angry roars rose from the crowd as they went to take their seats, which Harry of course agreed with, now wondering why he had a shamrock on his shirt. He was of course on Bulgaria's side. Ron, in a similar mind set, was now tearing apart his shamrock hat.

"That's one way to win over a crowd," Remus nodded in agreement.

"Wonder how many of the Irish fell for it," Lily asked, "or do you think they all collectively bought earplugs for this occasion?"

Mr. Weasley took it away before he could do any permanent damage, reminding to let the Irish have their say. Ron clearly wasn't listening, as Hermione tutted at their side.

"Ah don't be too harsh on them," James still managed to keep a happy smirk in place at his own son's expense even as he defended, "most males, and probably some females in the crowd, can't help it."

"Ah magic," Sirius repeated, finally stopping his insistent glare at Remus and instead adopting the expression from earlier, only causing Remus to laugh harder.

Bagman took control again by announcing it was now time for the Irish mascots! At once two green comets came shooting out of nowhere, and collided, causing a rainbow to appear in the sky. Then the comets split apart again, and began circling the entire of the field, little bits of gold raining below them. Mr. Weasley happily exclaimed that they were leprechauns, while people below were scrambling under their seats to collect the Galleons.

"Those should come with warning labels," James snorted, "will disappear, do not pretend otherwise."

"That would ruin the fun," Sirius snickered.

Ron collected his own wealth when they passed over head, shoving a stack full into Harry's hands and telling him that was payback for the Omnioculars, now Harry had to buy him Christmas!

"Uhoh," Remus said in a singsong voice, "looks like Ron hasn't learned that lesson yet."

"Hopefully his dad overhears and tells," Lily shrugged, "or Hermione will tell him, or Merlin Harry will laugh it off when he realizes later."

"Least he's keeping his priorities in line," Sirius snorted.

Once the leprechauns had settled down as well, Bagman began announcing the players of Bulgaria, including; Ivanova, Zograf, Levski, Vulchanov, Volkov, and Krum! Ron began yelling repeatedly that was him, that was the Viktor Krum!

"Thank you Ron," Lily murmured under her breath, "I thought Bagman meant the other Krum."

Once the roar of approval from half of the field died down, Bagman gave the same treatment to the Irish, introducing; Connolly, Ryan, Troy, Mullet, Moran, Quigley, and Lynch! Harry gave a quick zoom in on them, and saw they were all sporting Firebolt's just like Harry's.

Sirius gave a happy little wriggle all over again at that news remembering Harry had received his own, Merlin his godson could probably go out on that field right now and rival those two professionals!

Lastly he announced the referee of the game, an impartial Chair Wizard from Egypt through the International Association of Quidditch, Hassan Mostafa. Harry spotted the man through his bald head, but a mustache much like Uncle Vernon's.

James was in such a good mood he didn't even care that Harry had mentally brought up those useless slugs!

He carried a silver whistle on a chain around his neck, which he held in one hand as he placed a box down in the center of the field. He kicked it open, and the two bludgers and snitch were released, while Mostafa rose into the air with the Quaffle in hand. Harry only saw the flash of gold from the snitch for the briefest second,

James and Sirius let out surprised whistles, it was a miracle for anyone to catch a glimpse of that thing at the professional level!

then he gave a sharp whistle blast, tossed the Quaffle in the air, and the game began.

"Finally!" All four boys cheered, thinking it was high time they get this part going!

Bagman only had a second to announce each player's name as the Quaffle was passed with such intense speed between the six Chasers.

"Someone needs to take some commentary tips from Jordan," Lily muttered, finding that boy much more fun to listen to then prattling off names.

This was like no other Quidditch game Harry had ever seen before, and he wasn't missing a second as he pressed his Omnioculars so hard to his glasses they were digging into his nose.

"Worth it," Harry breathed, his eyes getting wider every second as memory's washed back over him, the speed and skill of these players making him almost breathless.

He'd never seen such skill on a broom, and Harry chose to slow the action down with his magical binoculars, as the Irish formed together a defense, Harry pressed the play by play option on his Omnioculars which helpfully flashed the message 'Hawkshead Attacking Formation' across his screen. That quickly changed to 'Porskoff Ploy' when Troy made as if to throw the Quaffle, but instead ducked underneath the oncoming Bulgarin Beater.

James could not have sounded any more excited for what he was reading if he tried! The pure bliss of listening to a Quidditch game, the awe on his son's face instead of a painful memory bothering him, it was all he'd been wanting from these books!

The ball passed a few more times, ending with Levski possessing the Quaffle, but then the crowd gave a mighty roar, and Bagman was cheering how Troy ha scored! 10-0 Ireland! Harry yelped in confusion that Levski still had the Quaffle, looking wildly around for the action!

"You're still watching in slow motion," Remus reminded, none of them taking but a moment to catch up and make the connection.

Harry gave a muttered sorry, but James just snorted and waved him off, he wasn't particularly rooting for either side, just getting to read this one truly good thing and watching Harry enjoy it!

He and his two friends still gave a hearty cheer in delight for the score, actually hoping Harry would keep it on slow down. Sure it left him a beat behind, but they adored the extra detail.

Hermione reminded from beside him that if he wasn't going to watch at normal speed, he'd be behind. Down on the field, the Veela were pouting while the leprechauns rose in the air and began laughing in delight. Furious with himself,

"After what Ron did with his slow capture," Sirius snorted, "I think we'll let you off the hook."

Harry spun it back to normal time and again listened and watched as the name game continued shooting from Bagman, results only fifteen minutes later saying 30-0 Ireland.

Lily had not thought it possible, but her husband's voice continued to rise in volume and ecstasy the longer he kept going, the thrill of the game ensuing him with as much energy as if he were out there playing himself.

The Irish crowd were going wild, but the Bulgarians wouldn't let it last long. Finally Ivanova got a goal in, and Arthur advised all of his boys to stuff their fingers in their ears real quick,

Causing all five of them to give another giggle, almost happy the Irish were so clearly winning, as clearly the Bulgarians doing the same would result in a deaf watch.

as the veela started to dance in celebration. Harry screwed up his eyes too;

"Now what good is that going to do you?" Remus snickered. "You'll miss when they stop."

"Better to short time it and keep my head on," Harry shrugged.

but peaked after a second to see the game was resuming. Bagman kept going with the name commentary, but cut himself off in exclamation. Every set of eyes in the stadium began shrieking in delight as Krum and Lynch pelted down, and Harry followed their progress with squinting eyes as he searched himself for what both players must be after, the Snitch. Hermione began screeching in fright that they were going to crash, but she was only half right. Krum pulled out of the dive in the last second, but Lynch plowed into the ground causing groans from the rest of the stadium.

"Oooh," all five of them winced in sympathy for that landing, Lily with a particularly hard wince as she couldn't help picturing that happening to her baby one of these games.

Mr. Weasley tried to call a foul, that Krum had been fainting, but Bagman only called it as a time-out as the mediwizards on hand went out to check on Lynch. Ginny was looking horror stricken as she leaned over the box, but Charlie quickly reassured he would be fine, that was just part of Krum's plan.

"Oh that's brilliant," James chirped, his eyes lighting with understanding.

"He'd make a nice Slytherin," Sirius snorted, finding that a pretty sneaky way of winning.

Harry felt a quiet laugh under his breath, somewhere deep inside him he knew Ginny didn't need anything about Quidditch explained.

Harry rewound the footage and hit play-by-play again, the screen flashing 'Wronski Defensive Feint; Dangerous Seeker Diversion'

"I love how even that warns you it's dangerous," Lily said with an obvious look at Harry, who was trying his best to ignore that look and wipe the eager smile off his face.

as Harry eyed Krum's look of intense concentration while he pulled out. Harry had never seen anything like him, Krum seemed more like he was flying without support he maneuvered so well.

"Best feeling in the world," all three Quidditch players murmured with smirks.

Harry flipped his screen back to normal and was now watching Krum in real time circling above, his eyes narrowed with concentration as he used this unimpeded time to look for the Snitch.

They may have already come to this conclusion, but while Lily and Remus could take a step back and gave appreciate snickers at such a clever diversion, the other three still found it too much like what Malfoy would do to be too impressed.

Not too much time later though, Lynch got back to his feet with praise from his side of the crowd, and mounted his Firebolt again for the game to resume. Only fifteen minutes later, and the Irish Chasers had pulled even farther ahead with the score now being 130-10.

"Wow, they really are superb," Sirius yelped.

"But Krum's clearly the better Seeker," Remus countered.

"I think the twins were dead on with their bet," James nodded in agreement. "It all boils down to if the Irish can pull ahead enough that Krum's capture won't mean anything."

"Lynch could still pull it off," Sirius countered with a calculating look, trying to take what little knowledge he had of the player and say, "one knock out doesn't mean he's done for."

Lily cleared her throat loudly when both Remus and Harry looked likely to jump in, then mutely pointed to the book with an obvious look. James mumbled a bit but agreed.

Bulgaria wasn't taking this lightly, now resorting in much dirtier methods to keep the Quaffle on their side, until finally Mostafa called a foul for excessive use of elbows, cobbing.

"What a little gnat," Sirius managed to get out, still half jittering in place from his own pent up excitement at hearing all of this. He was actually starting to regret giving this chapter up to James, Merlin this was a good time!

The leprechauns responded to that by floating into the air and forming the word's 'HA HA HA' to mock the Veela, who tossed their hair angrily but began dancing in excitement for their team none the less. As one, the Weasley boys and Harry stuffed their fingers into their ears,

Lily's giggling still managed to intensify at that mental image.

but Hermione, who hadn't bothered, was quickly tugging Harry's arm to get his attention, and giggling as she told him to look at the referee.

"Uh-oh," Remus chuckled, not looking particularly upset.

"Am I getting the feeling this is why they were brought along," James snickered, "for some preference from the ref."

"Intentionally or not, they're getting it now," Sirius nodded.

Harry looked down and saw that Mustafa had happened to land right in front of the Veela as they started their dance, and was now behaving strangely by flexing himself and smoothing out his mustache. Bagman sounded quite amused as he scolded they couldn't let that go on.

"He cannot be the only one," Lily nodded, her husband sounded exactly the same way.

Then he told that someone should go slap the referee.

"Now how come whenever I say that, I get told off for being unsportsman?" Sirius pouted, his eyes shining with too much giddy pleasure to really mean it.

A mediwizard was given the job, sprinting across the field with his fingers in his ears, as he kicked Mostafa in the shin.

Causing all five of them to begin laughing all over again, this was a brilliant game in every direction!

Mostafa came back to himself, and began shouting at the Veela. Bagman seemed to understand, as he told the crowd that he seemed to be threatening to take the mascots off the field.

"Ooh, Harry would actually get to be at a first," James practically began shaking with a whole new level of excitement.

The two Bulgarian Beaters seemed to take that personally, as they landed on the ground and began arguing with the referee, who was now pointing at the air and very clearly telling them to get back to the game. The leprechauns were having plenty of fun with this, now forming the words 'HEE HEE HEE.'

"There's a difference between mocking and distracting," Remus snorted.

"I don't see why it's worth arguing the point with him," James raised a brow in surprise. "If they tick him off enough, they'll just earn another foul."

When the argument continued, Mostafa lost his patience, and blew the whistle twice, earning Ireland two more penalties, while the Bulgarians boo'ed their displeasure.

James looked incredibly pleased with himself, while his friends laughed at the old familiar expression he'd always get when he called a play right.

The two Beaters took the hint and went back to the air, where the game was still steadily getting bloodier. Volkov and Vulchanov, the Bulgarian Beaters, no longer seemed to care if their clubs hit Bludger or person.

"This is turning as bloody as your Cup," Lily frowned with worry, each new game she kept hearing about only increasing her feeling she'd rather her son not take this up professionally.

"Hope they got a foul for every one of those," Sirius simply smirked.

When the Bulgarians yet again played another foul, the leprechauns chose a new tactic of turning themselves into a giant hand with only one finger up at the Veela.

"Oh now that can't be allowed," Lily raised a brow in surprise, "there are children present."

"Kids, do not mimic what that leprechaun just did. There, problem solved," James' shoulders were shaking he was still laughing and cheering so much that his shot back to Lily didn't hold much.

The Veela completely lost it, as fire seemed to sprout from their hands and they seemed to grow leathery wings from their back as they began fighting back with the leprechauns in a much more violent way. Harry no longer found them remotely beautiful, as they now resembled birds more than women.

Harry was spluttering in shock that those creatures of fantasy could turn into that! He most definitely understood what his mother meant now!

The others didn't look particularly concerned, on the contrary as Sirius eagerly said, "well, Harry did get a first it seems. As far as I know, the two team mascots have never started brawling before!"

"This is the best day ever," James nodded fervently.

Mr. Weasley happily endowed on his children the life lesson that this was why you never chose for looks.

"Valuable life lesson," Sirius agreed with a wicked grin, "though thankfully I have that and brains."

Lily chucked a pillow at him for that.

Above this, the game was still in full swing, Moran scoring for the Irish yet again. The Irish didn't get as much of a chance as usual to make their cheers heard, as the Ministry was pelting onto the field with wands out to try and get the two mascots under control.

James reading was coming out so breathy from trying to contain all of his laughter and excitement, his reading was nearly as chaotic as the scene he was describing.

Gameplay kept going, with Levski, then Dimitrov with the Quaffle, but then Quigley (Irish Beater) hit a bludger towards Krum, who hadn't a chance to duck and got a face full.

"Youch," Remus yelped in surprise, thinking that at least now he and Lynch were on even grounds having both been clobbered in the face this game.

The crowd gave a collective groan in pity, Krum's nose was clearly broken from any distance, but the whistle didn't ring.

"Was he going after the Snitch," Sirius asked curiously, his attention torn between the two so much it actually was getting hard to keep track. "It didn't say."

"Not directly," Harry shook his head, "so it was a foul."

Mostafa was still distracted by his broomtail being lit with fire from a stray Veela throw.

"That'll do it, yeah," Lily nodded, her eyes steadily going wider in wonder at this mess of a game that all of the boys were endlessly enjoying.

Harry may have been supporting Irish, but he wished someone would notice Krum's plight, he was by far the most fascinating player to watch. Bagman was loudly calling for a time-out as well, and still being ignored, but then Harry suddenly shouted loudest of all to look at Lynch! He was rocketing towards the ground again, and that was no Wronski Feint. Half the crowd was following the same progress, watching as Krum quickly caught up. Harry wondered how he could even see with blood flying across his face,

"Well it seems to have just broken his nose, not his entire skull," Remus said fairly.

"Thank you Professor," Sirius snorted, they'd worked that out for themselves.

Remus flushed in surprise, that old joke not holding nearly the same weight it used to, but Sirius and James were so entangled in their match they hardly seemed to notice what they were saying anymore.

but he seemed to easily draw level with Lynch as Hermione screamed that they were going to crash again! Ron shot back that no they weren't while Harry guessed that Lynch was, and this time Harry was right. Lynch once again got a face full of grass, and was quickly set upon by the Veela.

"Gah!" Lily yelped this time, actually fearing for that poor Seekers safety under that horde.

Charlie was still looking around wildly, calling for where the Snitch had got to, who'd caught it?!

"Because that was the important part," Lily grumbled, her mind still on poor Lynch.

Harry found it first, clutched safely in Krum's hand! His face still as red as his robes from his nose bleed, Krum was soaring through the air, his hand held high and proud in a fist, the tiny flutter of wings barely visible.

"That was bloody brilliant!" James cheered, throwing the book in the air in celebration and bouncing in his spot like it was a trampoline.

Sirius was to busy laughing, holding tight to the baby and still likely to fall off the couch any second, though his expression was remarkably similar.

The other three were only the slightest bit calmer, all laughing with pleasure at the event, though mostly laughing at the other two boys raucous reactions to it all. James seemed to take forever to settle back down and read out the rest, not that he was trying to hard. He would never have believed two days ago he could ever find such a good mood again, and he was terrified the moment he kept going something would come to spoil it. He wanted to hear of nothing else for the rest of these books, and yet he knew full well that wasn't going to happen. It still didn't manage to diminish his smile one bit, so wide it nearly distorted his words as he kept going.

The final score read 170-160 to Ireland, but the majority of the crowd was still lost in confusion, having been watching the spectacle of the two creatures. Slowly though, sound like an engine revving swelled to every corner as the delighted screams of the Irish came through.

"They did it, the twins did it, they won!" Remus laughed, falling back against the couch with his own shot of laughter at that realization.

"Oh, that's going to be so good for them," Lily nodded in absolute agreement, now their mother would have to give them a chance.

"This game could not have been any better in any way, shape, or form," Sirius nodded with absolute certainty.

Bagman was shouting the results for all to hear, that Ireland had won, but Krum had got the snitch!

Harry was laughing hardest of all at Bagman shouting out those exact results, he was so happy for the twins, so happy that his family was enjoying this moment of bliss, like the others hoping this wouldn't end.

Adding on that no one could have seen that coming!

"Well two of them did," James murmured happily, wiping a few watery tears of glee away.

Ron, who was jumping around in pleasure and applauding like mad, still had the sense to ask what Krum had gone and done that for, he knew they were too far behind to have won.

"That's right Ron," Sirius nodded along like a bobble head, "you keep applauding that idiot who recognized defeat with pride."

Harry happily shouted back that Krum had ended the game on his terms, he'd known the Irish Chasers were too good.

"I'm so proud you get it," James added on, tossing an easy arm around his son's shoulders and managing to keep going like that, Harry still snickering along at his side.

Hermione agreed he'd been quite brave,

"Brave is certainly better than grumpy," Lily agreed, her shoulders shaking from her own overdone laughter.

watching Krum's progress as he landed and some mediwizards came to inspect him, having to fight through the still raging battle of Veela vs. Leprechauns.

"So glad that's still not being ignored," Remus managed to stutter out half way intelligibly.

Behind Harry, Fudge and the Bulgarian Minister were shaking hands, then to all of their surprise the man said with a thick accent that his team had fought bravely.

Causing five collective snorts of laughter from the room. Oh yes, clearly this Minister didn't understand a lick of what Fudge had been saying! Which made all previous interactions near gold.

Fudge spluttered in outrage that he could speak English, but had been letting him pantomime everything all day! The Bulgarian just shrugged back, saying it had been funny to watch.

"Can we have him as our minister?" Sirius begged the book, turning huge puppy eyes onto anyone who would say yes. "He's clearly got a sense of humor!"

"I wish," Harry nodded in agreement.

Bagman was still announcing for the crowd that the Irish were coming up to the Top Box to greet their respective Ministers.

James squealed like, well like a Quidditch fan who'd just found out he was meeting the winners of a Quidditch World Cup. They were going into the Top Box, within autograph distance of his son!?

Harry's surroundings were suddenly rendered visible to all below them as every eye zeroed in on the Green clad team shaking hands with Fudge, who still looked rather put out he'd been using sign language all day for nothing.

"Ah learn to laugh man," Remus was doing it enough for both of them as he got that out.

Then Bagman said to give a big round of applause for Bulgaria, as that team entered as well.

James was squirming so much it was hard to keep reading the print, he had to remove his arm from Harry to hold the book better, and even then he sounded deliriously happy.

The crowd below was applauding appreciatively; Harry could see thousands and thousands of Omniocular lenses flashing and winking in their direction.

Harry winced, but for once felt no true feelings of embarrassment, as surely he was not the main focus this time.

Harry got his first face close impression of Krum, who had two black eyes, and was still clutching the Snitch.

"That's his keepsake," Sirius tried to whisper into Harry's ear so as not to get James to stop, but only just barely getting back to his normal tone from all the shouting, so Harry was instead left rubbing at his ear again.

Harry noticed that on the ground he didn't look nearly as nimble, more duck-footed and round-shouldered.

"Who cares," the other three boys said at once.

He and Lynch shook hands, Lynch's eyes strangely unfocused as if he was still getting over that last knockout.

"I can imagine," Lily nodded, her eyes still slightly more round than normal for concern of this stranger for two head injuries in one game. And James had said the Seeker position wasn't that bad!

He was still smiling happily though as he rode on the back of one of his fellow players broom while the Irish team did a lap of victory.

"Well his team kind of won without him, so it's good he's not the focus," Remus snorted.

Bagman finally used the 'Quietus' spell on his voice, it coming out raspier than usual but a pleased smile still on his face as he told them that people would be talking about this game for ages! Then he noticed the twins watching him expectantly, and he uneasily asked the boy's how much he owed their outstretched hands.

Harry felt an odd clench up of his stomach, one that he managed to laugh off with the others in praise for the twin's sudden fortune. Surely that feeling was just backlash from all his happiness of the game.

HPHPHPHP

The longest chapter yet of this book...and yet it was still kind of boring. Sorry about this, but as we all know, things really start picking up next chapter!

*Nickname offered up by Shakira94.

**...British people bow to their monarchy, right? Sorry if they don't, I'll take it out if not...again sorry for the stupid American showing.

#Harry Potter #fanfiction #GoF #Marauders #reading the books #James Potter #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #Lily Potter

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