#he's acted so concerned about my employer's the past few days

[softgrass-pdf]

called in sick to work AGAIN today 😭

[dragonwriterguy]

Dragon Tale(working title)

Before you start reading just know that this is the first draft with some small changes here and there to make it readable. Most of this is bound to change and a lot of it will be to you(my followers). If you think that something would work better then message me and i will probably look into the change. At the end of the day I'm writing this to learn and i hope that you will enjoy. (Also i am planning to upload this to Ao3 but they haven't given me my account yet so it might take a few days before it ends up on there.) (also also if you have any suggestions for the title just message me directly and ill think about it)

Rant over. Hope you enjoy

So this is how it ends. My life as a law abiding citizen. Not my actual life but just that I was about to become an enemy of the government. Now you might question why I would want to become an enemy of the government ,but I couldn't really ever tell what they were up to and half the time it seemed corrupt so why not. 

The wind brushed past my ears as I stood atop the ledge. My heart pounded quickly as I looked down upon the encampment before me. The miniature soldiers scurried about their tent moving cargo. The crimson banners blew in the wind like blood running down an arm. The tension in the air could be cut with a dagger. 

I looked back at my two friends, searching for any reassuring sentiments. Warren was closed off and seemed moody as always, but I can only assume  that he's moody right now. His helmet was covering his face, but his piercing blue eyes were shining through the gap in his helmet. He is an elf but you could never tell normally as he always has some kind of mask over his face and ears. There was that one time I walked into the baths and I saw the back of him, but I didn't get to see his face as he yelled for me to get out.Its not like i don't trust him, the dude has saved my life too many times to count, but he's one of those silent and mysterious types who act all lone wolf and like they can fly solo when they are actually a big softie under all those cloaks and armour. My main theory, that I have a bet riding on, is that he's some outcast prince that has to cover his face so as not to be recognised. 

To Warren's left was my other party member, Penelope. She was riddled with all kinds of thoughts. Her hand was covering her mouth. She was clearly very deep in thought as she was fidgeting, her eyes were glazed over. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a bun with bangs covering her forehead. Her white robes and blue cloak were being blown in the wind, like they were the wash of a boat on a river.

She didn't seem to notice that I had even looked at her as she turned around and began pacing. As much as I was concerned with her pacing, I decided to try and steady myself whilst we waited by distracting my mind. 

I thought back to how we even got in this situation in the first place, the story was long and complex and involved elements that had nothing to do with us but that was exactly what would help my brain. The job was fairly simple, all we had to do was to take down this legion of soldiers and the rest would be dealt with by our employer. This was simple but the repercussions were not. You see, this encampment was part of the royal army, so by attacking it we would become enemies of the monarchy. Now I'm not too big on politics and I'm not a massive fan of the government but even I know this is a bad idea, or it would be if we weren't working for the rebel forces that have been trying to take down the queen for the past decade or so. You might be wondering why there would be a large army trying to take out the queen, surely she's some nice old lady who sits in her castle all day drinking tea, WRONG. The queen is a massive asshole. To drop some lore the queen and her forces invaded from the west around 50-60 years ago. Her and her dragons, she's the queen of dragons as well which is super annoying, stomped in and decided to just push everyone around and move in. She is a massive dictator and until recently if you said something bad about her, you would be dragged off by her guards and you would never be seen again. So to put it simply she's a massive dictator and no one likes her.

In another weird sidenote, in technical terms she is my grandma as i am a dragon blood. So you might be wondering how that works and I'll tell you. When a dragon and a human love each other very much and they have a baby. This is sweet and all but magic can also influence this and can allow people to make an army with ease. This was how I was born, the not so sweet magic option, along with most dragonbloods. Another way to say it is I am a clone. All dragons are descended from the dragon queen so I guess in a way she's my grandma but then again that's not really true.

Now back to what's important, the Dragon Queen is evil which means that me and my friends decided to join the effort as the war was really hitting high tensions and the revolution was looking like it was going to win. They wanted to test our skills as we were pretty experienced so they sent us to this camp and now here we are sitting on a ledge waiting for our scout to return.

After a few more minutes of lying about on the floor, contemplating the specifics of how we got here and in other words being bored, our scout, Thorn arrived. By arrived i mean a small brown mouse scurried out of a bush, hopped up to us, looked at us with its adorable eyes before growing in size until sitting in front of us was a fully grown, but still short, adult. They scratched their spiky black hair and laid down to catch their breath. After a minute of being incapacitated, they began to speak.

“Okay, so good news, we should be able to go in and destroy this camp but we will need to do it in a very specific way” Thorn then went on to explain those very specific details.

“Is there anything else that we should know about?” asked Warren.

“Well i did overhear the guards discussing some kind of new weapon that had been acting up, i'm guessing that might be why we were assigned this camp specifically”

“So keep our eyes out for any fancy sword or staff then?” I chimed in

“Yup, lets try not break it unless we have to”

We all agreed and began to follow thorn through the forest. We walked in silence, only communicating through hand signals till we reached the edge of the camp.

Just past the tree line was a group of soldiers, most standing with a few sitting. They appeared to be playing some kind of card game. I stepped out of the brush and got ready to start the job.

So before I can continue with the story I need to drop some more “lore”. As you should already know I am a dragonblood, which is supposed to be mega loyal to the dragon queen as we are made by her. This means that everyone automatically thinks i work for her as you could guess this can sometimes be useful. Lore dropped, resume story. 

The soldiers all looked at me with an expression of bewilderment on their faces. They were clearly thinking “Why has this shirtless scaly guy just climbed out of the bushes. Their expressions quickly changed to those of suspicion as I continued to approach.

“Why aren't you at your station soldier?” One of the soldiers, an officer judging by his uniform, barked at me.

I walked on until I was standing at their table. “I thought I heard something in the bushes so I went looking.”

“And where is your uniform?”

I glanced down at my muddy, cargo pants, a stark contrast to their button up clean shirts and trousers. 

“Bear?” I tried hopefully.

“Look you better show us some identification or we're going to have to lock you up.” The soldiers were getting visibly irritated and some were starting to put their hands on their weapons. I was going to have to act now.

“Hold on, I think I have it in this pocket,” I answered as I reached deep into my pocket. After a second or two I did not bring out an ID or anything to show who I was. Instead I brought out a fist that was now travelling very rapidly towards the officer's jaw. They made contact with a small crunch and due to the now limp limbs of the man I had punched I could make the assumption it was a clean knockout. I quickly kicked the table into two other guys and punched another one across his face. The fight was finally getting started. 

The others proceeded to draw their weapons and charge at me. Unfortunately for them I used their knocked out friend as throwing practice. The unconscious man flew at them and bowled all three over. From the groaning I assumed that they were all winded and not planning on getting back up soon. The alarm bell rang out through the camp and soon a horde of soldiers began to charge towards me. 

Warren ran out from the bushes with his sword at the ready. He dashed past me and met with the crowd. His silver longsword sliced through his attackers, pushing them to the ground, and overall being a badass. His matte black armour did not reflect the light so amid the onslaught of soldiers he looked like a shadow warrior weaving between his foes. This warrior of the night ducked and bobbed amid this horde of iron clad enemies, his sword striking each and every one with precision and intent. You couldn't help but stare and watch this master of sword fighting stood surrounded by his disarmed and incapacitated foes. 

Following Warren's lead Thorn dashed forward and out of the tree line. They slid under the legs of our military foes and disappeared. A few seconds passed with no sign of them before a group of soldiers were flung through the air. Where a dozen soldiers had once been there was now a large brown bear. Its fur rippled in the wind as it let out a mighty roar to the heavens. Its teeth bared, the fuzzy beast began its attack on the soldiers. Its onslaught sent them flying every which way, and any that tried to fight it head on would get batted away. Within minutes this once large crowd had been torn apart and now only a few were left standing against these two fierce warriors. 

Penelope stood back from the pile of soldiers that was forming and focused her attention on the significantly larger group of reinforcements heading our way. Some of the reinforcements held back to draw bows and aim them our way. Penelope started to hold her hands out and chant. I realised what she was doing and prepared to run. A low hum began to resonate in the air and as the blanket of arrows flew into the air, like a deadly sheet being thrown down upon us by the gods, a loud pop hit my eardrums. The arrows proceeded to bounce backwards and fall upon the very soldiers that they were meant to protect. 

Upon hearing this pop I set off like a hawk upon a bird and ran across the battlefield, making contact with the enemy forces within seconds. Some of the soldiers swung at me with their swords with the hopes of slowing or stopping me in my tracks but they were soon robbed of this dream at a record breaking pace.  One by one, they were all met by either first or foot to their faces, stomach, knees, shoulders and an unlucky one in the groin. After not long I noticed that more of them were running away from me than running towards me. Sadly this moment of victory was rudely interrupted by a powerful blow in between my shoulder blades that sent me toppling forward a couple feet. I turned around to see a heavily tattooed dragonblood standing over me with a grimace stretched across his face. His horns were engraved with some runes that I didn't have the time to read. His face was scarred lightly with some cuts tracing around his eyes and mouth. 

“Traitor” He spat at my feet, his lip curling harshly as he snarled at me. 

“I'll accept the challenge buddy but i can't promise to not break some bones on top of your pride,” I was abruptly cut off by the approach of claws towards my head. 

I ducked and rolled behind him to avoid being decapitated by the angry lizardman. I jumped up and threw a punch into the back of his neck. He recoiled in pain before spinning around and trying to slam his fists down onto my skull. I took a step back and grabbed his wrists to pull him to the floor. This worked with surprising efficiency as he went down faster and harder than an avalanche. I now stood over my defeated challenger, who was inhaling sharply in between winces. 

“Yield” I spoke to him slowly and firmly.

He glared at me from the ground, despising the idea but knowing that he couldn't best me. He sighed and relaxed. I kicked him in the jaw to knock him out cleanly and then took a deep breath. This brief moment of clarity was broken by an unwelcome screech that rang out, the noise hanging in the air for a few seconds after. I turned around to see a battered grant facing off against a wyvern. 

The beast was easily ten or so feet in length with a wingspan of maybe twelve feet. Its body hung low to the floor, like a hovering snake, snarling at Warren as it encircled. He was clearly hurt and was giving everything he could to just stand up. This was the opposite of the wyvern which apart from a long gash along its underbelly that maybe cut a few inches deep was unharmed. The fiery beast began to get ready to pounce on my injured friend. I really couldn't catch a break today. 

Like an arrow shot from a taught hunters bow, I dashed across the ravaged remains of the camp like the wind was carrying me every step of the way. A dozen feet from my destination I leapt through the air, and like a blacksmith's hammer on hot metal I brought down my fist upon the skull of the wyvern. The contact of the blow reverberated through my arm and I followed through with the rest of my body. The wyvern was knocked a couple feet to the side and let out a scream that pierced the silent battlefield. The wyvern stared at me with its red hot eyes, the words of hate being engraved into the expression. 

“Tap in,”I said to Warren, before I shook off my hand and prepared a fighting stance. At least I got to tick Wyvern boxing off my bucket list. 

This oversized lizard pounced towards me, its massive form blocking the sun from my eyes. Fortunately for me, lack of sunlight does not mean lack of right hooks to mean, angry reptiles. The beats recoiled from the strike and was deciding to counter attack before I began to kick it repeatedly in its face, neck and jaw. Unfortunately this barrage of kicks did not allow me to see the tail that was about to sweep out my legs. I flailed through the air only to land badly on my ankle. I clutched it, wincing. Now was a very inconvenient time to sprain any limb as the tail wanted to say hello to me again. This time it connected harshly with my chest despite my best attempt to move out of the way. I was sent sprawling across the terrain and landed face down, feeling very bruised all over. I rolled over raggedly only to see the wyvern standing over me, its drooling maw now only inches away from my seemingly delicious face. 

So I guess this is how I am going to die. No big epic fight with the super evil irredeemable bad guy from my past, no training arc to develop my character and show my growth, certainly no mentor who teaches me patience and to stop making jokes in battle. If the universe had picked now as the time in which the hero nearly dies only to be overcome with some new found power and then save the world, then they should have picked a better time. I sighed and closed my eyes thinking back to my past and my first best friend. 

These thoughts of my past were stopped by a spray of warm liquid followed by a loud thud maybe a few metres to my left. These weren't the things I expected to happen before I got eaten but when I opened my eyes to see a decapitated wyvern and its newly separated head next to me I took it as a welcome surprise. I saw Penelope with her staff outstretched, obviously having used her spells to cut its head off. She looked at me frustrated before walking over and extending her hand to help me up. I pushed the wyvern corpse off me before taking her hand and standing back up. 

“Why is it that I'm always saving you boys from some kind of new situation every week?” Penelope teased as she helped dust me off. 

“Well I was doing perfectly fine until you cut its head off,” I joked.

“Oh yes, the elusive give up and let it eat you trick, only masters of the art of fighting know about that,” She added.

I laughed before gesturing to the very much dead lizard. “I'm guessing that this is the weapon that we were given the tip about.”

“I was assuming that as well” Penelope leant on her staff and blew some of her hair out of her eye. “Just to be safe we sent Thorn to check and see if they could find anything.”

“Well at least i can say i didn't break it this time” I said before walking towards Warren who was busy tending to a nasty cut on his arm. 

As we all sat down to talk, some rebels brandishing blue banners burst from the treeline. They charged through the wreckage for a few moments before spotting us sitting and nursing our injuries. They stopped the attack on the defeated enemy and sheepishly wandered through the battlefield looking for anything they could salvage or take. Some of them began to tie up groups of enemy troops and confiscate their weapons before depositing them on the back of wagons. One of the commanders, the one who had given the mission details if I remembered correctly, walked over to us to discuss our work. 

The commander was a young man in his mid 20s at most, with short trimmed hair that puffed up a bit at the front and a clean shaven face. There weren't many notable features about him apart from a thin scar that ran from his cheek down to his throat, and a look in his eye that gave away that he had just a little too much to lose.

When he reached us, he spoke enthusiastically but with a bit of caution, probably because he didn't want to end up like the wyvern. “Well done, you four. This is some amazing work, I just spoke to the general and he is so pleased with you all. He wants you to meet him right away. I was slightly doubtful that only four heroes could take down an entire encampment  but you have outdone yourselves here. Also don't worry about killing the wyvern we didn't want to go through training it. We have enough on our hands already.”

“Would you mind if we got a lift back with you, Thorn who is meant to be our navigator managed to get us lost and then unlost about five different times on the way here.” I asked the commander. 

“Of course, we would be delighted to have you. The soldiers need a bit of a raise in spirits anyway and having four fresh new faces to tell the story of the battle today is exactly what we have been looking for,” The commander replied, like he was reading from some advertising poster for the revolution “I'll even let you ride up front with me, i don't know your name though, what was it?”

“The names Kaz. It's a pleasure to be working with you.”

We helped with some of the clean up before all hopping on the wagon to head back to the city. I spoke with the commander, exchanging war stories and other random bits about our lives. Funnily enough, we both like our fish cooked the same way. As we talked and laughed, I felt something inside me begin to stir. As the city came into sight, I began to understand this feeling. Something in my gut told me that I was about to come face to face with a part of my past that I wish had stayed buried and left well alone. 

[disco-elysium-via-polls]

4. "Evrart is a hero of the worker's movement."

JOYCE MESSIER - "He is the most corrupt individual I have ever seen. And I deal with men like him for a living. If there is anyone more venal, more irredeemably nepotistic -- then it's his twin brother, Edgar."

"Wait, there are *two* of him?"

JOYCE MESSIER - "Yes. Edgar looks *exactly* like his brother, except for that lazy eye. He also *talks* exactly like Evrart does. And when one's term as foreman is up, the other takes over."

"It's how they circumvent the term limits, you see. With a funny little *switcharoo*. While in office they've embezzled god knows *how* much of their workers' dues."

"What about the Union itself, outside the brothers Claire?"

"Let's take this back to the strike."

JOYCE MESSIER - "The Débardeurs' Union was once a perfectly normal institution. Twenty years ago, anyway. It must *not* have been easy to establish under the Emergency Act, but they did it. I can respect that."

"Organized labour at its best, as they say. Then something happened in the local chapter elections. The Brothers Claire came and transformed it into a… how do you say?" She hesitates, looking for the right expression.

KIM KITSURAGI - "A mob," the lieutenant says succinctly. "The Débardeurs are a crime syndicate. Sad as it may be, I suspect we'll be forced to cooperate with them."

JOYCE MESSIER - "Refreshingly honest, officer." She nods. "The company has tried appeasing in the past, but I'm afraid our concessions have only emboldened Evrart and his brother." She turns to you:

"And your opinion, detective? If I may ask. I'm a curious and talkative person you see," she explains." Would you say the Débardeurs' Union is…"

"An effective advocate for the rights of working men."

"A giant leech sucking the life out of Revachol."

"Basically a socialist mob."

"I prefer not to have an opinion on these things."

based on past polls I think I'll be alright to just keep picking the communist options, unless someone yells at me to do otherwise.

JOYCE MESSIER - "Why do you think so?" Her voice is calm, there is only curiosity there.

"Between Evrart the Human Leech and Measurehead, this Union sounds like a *motley crew*. I'm into it." (Wink.)

"Sounds like they're All-Revachol. I'm All-Revachol, too. To hell with the rest."

"They're good labour men. Can't fault them for a little *corruption*."

JOYCE MESSIER - "Ha!" She throws her hair back. "A real Man of the Left. What else can I tell you about?"

5. "One more thing -- you said something *happened* in the elections?"

+5XP

JOYCE MESSIER - "I'm glad you asked. There was a woman -- the previous forewoman of the Union. She disappeared."

KIM KITSURAGI - "Disappeared?"

JOYCE MESSIER - "Yes. On the last day of the local chapter elections her daughter phoned in and said she wasn't running anymore -- or coming to work. Ever. End of story."

"Eerie."

"It happens."

"Some kind of extortion probably."

JOYCE MESSIER - "Downright *haunting* if you ask me. The Wild Pines suspected foul play, but what could they do? It was a Union matter."

"The point of the presentation is -- these kinds of things *happen* around the Claires. Watch out when you're dealing with him."

KIM KITSURAGI - "Thank you for your concern, ma'am. We'll be just fine."

6. "That's all I need here. Let's change the topic."

JOYCE MESSIER - "Of course." She passes the thermal cup between her gloved hands. "How else can I help?"

4. "What can you tell me about this lynching?"

JOYCE MESSIER - "Quite a few things, I'm afraid..." She falls silent for a moment. Contemplating something.

The information I'm to share with you includes sensitive trade secrets. For the sake of my employer, I have to ask for your names and badge numbers."

Secret task complete: Interview the Wild Pines rep

+10XP

KIM KITSURAGI - "Of course, ma'am. We should have introduced ourselves..." The lieutenant hands her a piece of blue plastic. "I'm Lieutenant Kitsuragi, from Precinct 57..."

"And this is my colleague from Precinct 41." He points to you. "I'm afraid he doesn't have his badge at the moment. I hope mine will suffice."

JOYCE MESSIER - "How curious." She returns the lieutenant's badge and turns to you. "Why is that, detective?"

EMPATHY [Medium: Success] - Awkwardness washes over the conversation. The woman doesn't like this turn of events.

"Remember when my partner told you I'd recently suffered from an *unusual* medical episode? My lost badge is related to it."

JOYCE MESSIER - "I... see..." She looks increasingly worried. "So are you saying you *lost* your badge during the course of this *episode*?"

"It's possible. After a night of heavy drinking I lost all memory of my life and the world."

"I could have eaten it for all I know. I don't remember anything. This world, this city. Nothing."

"Uhm... yes."

JOYCE MESSIER - "Oh, *dear*..." She sighs with compassion, sadness even. "I suppose this does explain some of the more *curious* turns in our conversation."

KIM KITSURAGI - "As I said, ma'am," the lieutenant interjects, "his technique may be *very* unconventional. But he *is* an officer of the RCM."

JOYCE MESSIER - "Of course. I sympathize. But I'm afraid I simply can't share anything more until I've seen that badge..."

New task: Joyce's info on the lynching

SUGGESTION [Easy: Success] - Hang on, she's a professional *negotiator*. She should be open to some sort of mutually beneficial arrangement.

What kind of arrangement would it be?

[Suggestion - Medium 11] How do I negotiate my way out of this?

"Then I'll find it somehow. Let's talk about something else until I do."

SUGGESTION - I mean favours for favours. A *dirty* alliance of some sort.

2. [Suggestion - Medium 11] How do I negotiate my way out of this?

SUGGESTION - Easy. Just offer her a *favour*, like I said -- nice and dirty.

"Surely there's some other way to demonstrate my law enforcement credentials?"

JOYCE MESSIER - "I will be frank with you." She puts down her thermal cup. "If I'm going to break protocol I need to be able to justify it to my superiors. They're going to want to see something very *tangible*."

SUGGESTION - You're in, but expect her to drive a hard bargain.

"Like what?"

JOYCE MESSIER - "Reports from inside Terminal B suggest it's a hub for the local drug trade. This is an open secret in Martinaise. The Union *controls* the terminal, so it goes to reason..."

REACTION SPEED [Easy: Success]- ... they're profiting from this trade.

JOYCE MESSIER - "The company has tried looking into this matter before -- to no avail. Perhaps someone with *your* authority and resources might turn over the right stones?"

"*Or*..." She picks the cup back up. "You can recover your badge -- though if I may be blunt with you, it sounds like that may be a lost cause."

KIM KITSURAGI - "Detective," the lieutenant closes his notebook. "A word in private before we continue."

"Excuse us for a moment, madam." [Leave.]

Before we talk to Kim, we managed to complete a Thought:

Left-wing dialogue gives +4 XP -1 Visual Calculus: Reaction, reaction everywhere! -1 Authority: Downtrodden inva-communist

0.000% of Communism has been built. Evil child-murdering billionaires still rule the world with a shit-eating grin. All he has managed to do is make himself *sad*. He is starting to suspect Kras Mazov *fucked him over* personally with his socio-economic theory. It has, however, made him into a very, very smart boy with something like a university degree in Truth. Instead of building Communism, he now builds a precise model of this grotesque, duplicitous world.

KIM KITSURAGI - "This is not going quite as I hoped it would, detective." The lieutenant's voice is hushed.

"How did you hope it would go?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "Honestly, I was expecting you to use your *unorthodox technique* to keep her off-balance -- and you know... *not* volunteer us to be her henchmen."

"Oh, so we're *henchmen* now?"

"Really I thought it was going so well."

KIM KITSURAGI - "This woman is running circles around us. She might have known about your *misplaced badge* all along -- or she's simply an adept improviser. Either way, we've played straight into her hands."

EMPATHY [Medium: Success] - He doesn't let it show, but there is a limit to how much the consequences of your unprofessional behaviour can cost the investigation.

[orchardpunk]

I saved a life today. Well, not really. Or maybe I did, in that another cycle of time exists, whirling around the burst grape at universe' heart, where I acted. Where I smush the spider. .. Yes. This is about a spider. A baby whose desk-bound odessy one eye langoriously watched, enojoying a precious moment reprieve from the insistent boops, beeps and ding ding dings of an impatient employer's agent, the work laptop.

This little chap wandered, lapping up the sights and sounds of the big desk. Such sights as the marvellously humming obelisk, occasionally bursting to life with aforementioned boops. The astonishing drifting dunes of the tobacco wastes. The ginormous undulating green vessel, filled with slightly stinky old coffee and accompanying film. A journey fit for a king, nay a king among arachnids, a fitting first foray for a greenhorned (and green-fanged) adventurer. As well we all know, all good adventures must first start with a bang. Little did he know - or maybe he did, maybe familiarly if he lived in my fraying locks prior to this adventure - the biggeth, haired-but-only-selectively ape whose gaze bemusedly followed its progress. His wiggling exitable wee legs conveying across species the 'cor!', the 'wow' the 'WHAT THE F--' ahem. You get the gist. It was having fun. This little lad, so enthralled by life that he did not know, or did he, that he was moments from death. In another life. Or maybe the same life, lived by this giant vessel of meat but only a few years ago on the coil of said vessel's life. Had it been born sooner. If the little spider's parents had just gotten to the coitus a bit faster. I suppose, more accurately, if the last 1000 generations of its spider parents had gotten to the coitus a bit faster.

You see, the artist currently known as balding slightly extremely benign 27 year old, was previously a murderer. A spider slaughterer. An irredeemable brute.

That individual traversed a range of views prior to this point - justifying the deaths with disgust, with fear, more recently with misplaced rightous anger. That these tiny critters, that knew no better, dare enter its box room. It's box room, how very dare they, that they did not know was owned. Its box room that cost it £700/month (inc. bills) no less, that these aggregiously trespassing spiders in their gall had no concept of. The box that was its only slice of serene in a world entirely owned by megacorps and bastards, that these blasted, greedy spiders could roam around as they pleased. Is that self-rightious rotten reasoning similar to the brainrot inflicting our society? Wherein, those who fought in the past to establish their place, now think they can be the arbiter of access to newcomers seeking to fight for their own slice? To subject them to a quick crack with a wet towel for even considering they could share the warmth.

Fortunately, we're passed that spider smushing at least. The other day I ate a brand of grey meat and bread delivered to my door, and a giant common house spider stopped on its journey to sniff the acrid fumes. I screamed. The spider, jumped. Not at me in fight. Not away in flight. Jumped - as in, scared. As in, 'why did you do that you big daft bastard'. What a world. Terrifying biomechanical creatures with few, if any, external muscles and more eyes than any creature should rightly need.. can jump in fright. Scared of the big, loud monkey and his stinky meal that looks like meat but smells like plastic. For those concerned this means the author is only a recently reformed spider slayer - This is more an anecdote of an odd recent event. It's been a while since I hung up my spider-sized Jack the Ripper cosplay. Thankfully. But I suppose the thrust is, does not acting equate to saving a life, if the only thing the life is being saved from is the inaction of the prospective killer? Does it count as saving a life when Nestle, or Coke, doesn't pump all the groundwater out of a region and leave the local communities to croak on the dry air? Did that little lad even compute the sheer scope of the stupid monkey lazily eyeing it on its commute across the big desk? Does the spider have a better senses of perspective sans ego than said big stupid monkey, and wasn't so involved with such self centred thinking? Was it busy enjoying the act of acting in a universe where for billions of years it did not exist, therefore was in some way the absence of action incarnate?

If Mandela thought the clearest revalation of a society's soul was the treatment of its children, is the treatment of spiders in our homes a litmus test for the health of our smaller, individual souls? Did my soul grow three sizes that day, that day of days when the first spider wasn't slain? Will Nestle's soul swell fit to burst, the day it stops it's century-long tradition of murdering children through missold baby formula?

Are we becoming better people when we stop the previous par for the course act of inflicting harm? Or are we merely finally halting the degregation of our souls by stopping the stop-cock source of its erosion?

Was this all pointless?

Did I save a life?

Can you feel my shrug through the screen?

The spider came back as I finished. Hopefully he likes it here, and will stay to see more sights. Lord knows the local economy needs it.

Does he know he was written about? Or the writer’s heinous history? Maybe he’ll bite me as a sign. Spiders can't speak English, after all.

[mysteriouslybluepirate]

FINALLY, A POLL WHERE I AM FULLY QUALIFIED TO GIVE MY THOUGHTS AND OPINIONS. All of these options were things I had fixations on at some point in my life.

(all Judgments assuming you aren't the protagonist. Just a side flunkey).

Okay, I haven't voted, so I'm going to type out my thoughts.

FNAF-Five Night's at Freddies. Probably isn't bad if you don't get the night shift. You get paid minimum wage surrounded by screaming children and suddenly your place of employment gets shut down for investigations. It's a pretty standard service/fast food gig with high turnover. If you are on night shift, I'd just fucking run or find a way to die without Freddie's help(Assuming the 'the reason you are hunted down is that Michael looks like William Afton' thing isn't canon. Cause then you're just working at Chuck E' Cheese). I am no Mike Schmidt. I am a coward.

U.N.I.T.- Dr Who. This is the one I don't remember that much about. Also shit, but at least you know some of what your signing up for. They basically just act as a UN for when the Earth gets attacked, so you are essentially a part of a world military. Not a fun time, but not the worst. You'd get killed in fun on screen ways.

Black Mesa- Half-Life series. Everyone but a few people died in the Resonance Cascade, and then the US military came in to wipe out any survivors. It's also a military-run research facility where you're surrounded by people who have made their lives goal-building shit for the military. Most of the NPCs are old white guys. So everyday life would just be getting to work, being a military contractor, and slowly dying inside in a sterile white lab doing menial shit till aliens invade or your place of work explodes.

Aperture Laboratories- Portal. As bad, if not worse than Black Mesa. The Resonance Cascade killed almost everyone in an instant but Glados purposefully tortured the scientists still in the building when she took over. If I'm remembering the comics correctly, she kept a few around for testing before Chell showed up. You would also be a military weapons contractor, but unlike Black Mesa, you are not directly under the thumb of the government but a crazy rich guy slowly losing his fortunes. You could lose your job every time that man opens his mouth. So not good on both fronts. And you're just a scientist who performs the tasks, so it's not like you'd get to play with portal guns.

SCP Foundation-(If you don't know what this is, and love monster stories, please look this up. It's a fandom built on thousands of stories written by thousands of people to create this world of fucked up little guys. There's an amazing Youtube channel that even reads out entries-TheVolgun). Now. My main question here is are you a named Foundation member? Cause it's still 50/50 on if you get cool powers or just explode/die gruesomely. If Containment breaches, you're fucked. Every day you walk past cages of Lions and Bears knowing one day they are going to find a way out and end you. You slowly get to watch your coworkers lose themselves to threats, SCP's or living a life where you can't tell anyone in the outside world anything. Even in the facilities with lesser threats, there would still be one there that would *perfectly* match all your vices and tempt you to a brutal death(Dr. Bright). You are protecting the world from universe-ending threats. I kinda love the vides though.

Stanley's Office. -The Stanley Parable. (assuming Stanley's boss is real, and not just the narrator bullshitting a reason for his story to make sense) Now, I think this is the BEST place on this list. Hear me out. Yes, every employee is hypnotized by the main boss to work. But Stanley is HAPPY living this life. The game starts with Stanley being concerned that he can't properly do his job. The only thing the Narrator tells us about Stanley's coworkers is that he DELETED them. (Cause he controls the story). They weren't tortured, maimed, or desperately fighting for their lives. Just faceless cogs in the Narrator's story that don't matter. The story is about Stanley. Since I am not Stanley, I would already be dead before the story starts. If we see this as me just working at a faceless office, if they let me listen to music, I'd have a great time. Do I get a hot voice narrating my life who makes it their goal to degrade/berate me? Cause then I'd be the best job ever.

Joey Drew Studio's- Bendy and the Ink Machine- Get turned into a goop monster vaguely based on what I created? So I become my own fursona OR a lead character in an animated series. Yes, you do become corrupted and semi-hypnotized to follow the ink. Yes, you get put into a hive mind with the ink and lose everything that once made you human. This one doesn't have any upsides, since before the story went down it was an overworked animation studio. You'd be underpaid and mistreated daily. A shit ton of employees just went crazy from being overworked and started to EAT the ink. Then once the ink machine happened, assuming you were in the studios, you'd be fucked. Not to mention the safety hazards, sacrifices and murders.

I won't say how I voted, but there were my thoughts.

[angstysebfan]

The Past Can Break You - 5

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

AU: Avengers

Summary: You and Bucky have been dating for aa few years. As far as you’re concerned he is the one. But what happens when a blast from the actual past shows up?

A/N: Ive seen a lot stories of Bucky getting his first love from the 40′s back. And I’ve always wondered... what would happen if he was dating someone already? Reader is from this time. Not proofread.

Warning: implied smut, angst is back

--

The next 2 weeks were amazing. Bucky really turned everything around and showed you that he was committed to you. It made you feel so much better. While you felt bad that he now completely avoided Dot, because she is still out of place, you didn’t feel that bad because you knew she was bad news. Whenever she saw you and Bucky together she would scoff and glare at you. It made you uncomfortable.

One day the whole Avengers team was called into a meeting to discuss an upcoming mission. Per Steve and Tony, everyone, except you, were needed. You didn’t like the thought of staying behind with Dot in the compound, but you were a team player, and wouldn’t argue. Bucky on the other hand let Steve have it with both barrels.

“Steve you know the situation with Dot. Can’t someone else stay behind?” he said to Steve.

Steve sighed, “Yes, I know this will be difficult, but everyone else is needed for their skill. Y/N’s skills aren’t needed on this mission. She agreed, so why are you fighting me on this?” Steve argued back.

“Of course Y/N won’t fight this, but I am trying to protect her from Dot. You remember how vicious Dot can be, and I don’t want her to upset Y/N when we just started to get back on track,” Bucky said.

“Look Buck, I get it. I do. But this is how it is. The compound is big enough that Y/N won’t need to be anywhere near Dot. By the way, when are you going to tell her that she needs to start looking for employment and another living situation. She makes everyone uncomfortable. Even Tony is starting to get annoyed at all her questions about FRIDAY, and he loves showing people how smart he is,” Steve asked.

“I-I don’t know. I mean I know I have to do it, especially after what she’s pulled, but I still feel bad for her. I mean she didn’t ask for this to happen, and doesn’t deserve to be thrown out on her ass, but I know it’s the right thing to do. I’ll talk to Y/N about it and see if she has any ideas. Maybe if we help setting her up I will feel better about it,” Bucky said.

“Yea, I know. Let me know if you need help. But we gotta get packed and head to the quinjet. And please don’t worry about Y/N. Your girl is strong, and she knows how Dot is. She will be fine. Besides, we are only gone for like 24 hours, what could happen?” Steve asked.

Bucky didn’t respond and watched as Steve walked out of the meeting room. He ran his hands through his hair, what could happen? He hoped nothing, but he didn’t trust Dot. It’s funny the way she is acting now didn’t bother him when he was in the 40s, but now, because of you, he sees that she is not as great as he thought.

Bucky sighs and heads to your shared room to find you packing his bag for him. He smiles as he walks in, “Hey baby,” he says.

You look up at him and give him a bashful smile, “Figured I would help you out,” you said.

Bucky walks up to you and wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his embrace. He looks into your eyes, and all you see is love and admiration in them. He leans in and connects his soft lips with yours. After a moment he deepens the kiss and you feel his tongue on your lower lip. You open you mouth in response, allowing him full access. When the need to breath becomes too great you pull away, panting.

“You’re only going to be gone a day,” you say with a chuckle.

Bucky also laughs, “Will you be ok? Here? With... her?” he asks.

You brush your hand through his soft hair, “Yea. I’ll stay clear of her as much as I can. But I’ll be ok,” you say.

Bucky pecks your lips again. “When I come home, I was wondering if you could help me with something,” he asks.

You look at him with confusion, “Like what?” you ask.

“I think it’s time for Dot to go off on her own, but I don’t want to just kick her out and make her fend for herself. I was thinking you could help me find her a job and a place to live? I would just feel better if I know I wasn’t kicking her out with nowhere to go,” he asks.

You smile and nod, “Sure. I’ll be glad to help. I’ll start while you’re gone,” you say. 

Bucky kisses you one more time, “I’ll be back tomorrow. I love you, Doll,” he says.

“I love you too, Buck.”

--

You have to say you are surprised when you find yourself not running into Dot at all. It’s almost like she doesn’t want to be near you either, which is fine. She has spent most of the last 24 hours in the lab, while you stayed in your room looking up possible jobs and apartment for her. 

You thought it was nice of Bucky to at least help set her up and not throw her to the wolves. It was something you admired about Bucky, his big heart. You both have been texting before the mission, but since then you haven’t heard from him. You hope everything is ok. 

“FRIDAY, any update on the team?” you ask the AI.

“No agent, I’m sorry,” she responds.

You decide to take a nap in hopes that when you wake up your boyfriend will be home. You want your family home safe and sound.

--

You woke up to the sounds of the team in the hallway. You walk out and see Nat and Wanda and hug them hello. You head toward the common room hoping to see the guys, but don’t. You walk back toward the elevator and heard something from Dot’s room.

“Oh Dot, I’ve missed you so much, Doll,” you hear Bucky moan.

You gasp in horror as you continue listening to Dot moan and beg for Bucky to go harder. You can’t help the tears that begin to fall as you hear your boyfriend and his ex having sex.

“So good baby, you’re so good. Taking me so well, you feel amazing. No one is like you, I love you so much,” Bucky moaned.

You’ve heard enough and turn, running back to your shared room. You can’t be near him when he comes in pretending he didn’t just fuck his ex. Your heart is in a million pieces as his voice continues to play in your head. All you hear is her and his moans and his words. He loves her. It will always be her. Maybe you just need to learn to accept that.

--

“Buck, I think you should have told Y/N you got hurt. She is going to be worried about you,” Steve scolded.

“Look, I know my girl. She will be mad at first, but then she will nurse me back to health. I will have to convince her to ride me later, but it will be so worth it,” Bucky says with a smirk as the doctor continues to pull out shards of shrapnel from his side.

“Seriously man? TMI!” Sam complained before leaving Medbay.

Bucky laughed and then hissed as the doctor pulled another shard out. “How much longer? I don’t want Y/N to think I’m dead if she knows we are back,” Bucky asked the doctor.

“One more piece... and....” she pulls the large piece out, “There! Now I will quickly clean and bandage. no stitches cause you will heal fast, but please no sex tonight. You might bleed all over her,” the doctor said with a glare.

Bucky and Steve laugh. “Oh I talked to Y/N about helping me out with Dot and she agreed. I figured it was best to have her involved with that situation from now on,” Bucky says to Steve as the doctor cleans and bandages his side.

“Good idea, less messy that way. I hope everything went well here with the 2 of them,” Steve says.

“I’ll find out,” Bucky says as he puts his shirt on. 

Both men walk to the elevator and head to their floor. They say their goodbyes in the hall as Bucky opens the door to your shared apartment. You aren’t in there, which confuses him, but he figures maybe you went to the kitchen.

When he walks into the bathroom he senses something is wrong. None of your toiletries are there. It was different from when you cleaned, plus his was still there. He walks back out to your room and sees that everything on your nightstand is gone too. Now he starts to panic as he goes to the closet and sees that all your clothes are gone. He tries to not have a panic attack because that will slow him down. He goes to head to the door and sees a piece of paper on the floor:

Bucky,

I guess I’m the stupid one. I’m stupid to think that everything you said to me was true. I was stupid to think that I could compete with your one true love. I was stupid to think that you really loved me. Well I won’t be stupid anymore. No need to lie and say what I heard isn’t true. I hope you and Dot are very happy together in your new apartment, but I’m done. Have a nice life.

Bucky dropped the letter and fell to his knees as tears pool down his cheeks. What the hell happened that you up and left him? You are angry with him, and he doesn’t understand why. He allows himself to cry for a moment before rereading it.

Dot.

--

Chapter 4 / Chapter 6

Oh Dot you dirty bitch! Feedback is appreciated.

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PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF I FORGOT ANYONE!

[cjloogy]

Spirited Away – 千と千尋の神隠し

I think it’s easy to consider this thing a work of art. The animation is beautiful, the art direction is stunning, all of the character designs are incredibly inspired and imaginative, the music is wonderful, and the voice acting sells everything that’s happening on screen. When it comes to productions that work well to introduce people to the medium of anime, I think this is a solid option despite its extremely fantastical setting and premise. Everything here just works, and there’s really not much to criticize for what it sets out to achieve in my eyes. I think just about anyone could enjoy this film if they’re a bit more open minded to exploring different mediums and stories.

As for what’s going on in this film, there’s a lot. But I can still boil it down to a few sets of themes that stand out to me at least. An obvious one is supernaturalism, this tale is inspired by Japanese Shinto-Buddhist folklore, as showcased by the wide variety of spirits that Chihiro encounters, plenty of which I can pick out individually. The setting of the bathhouse is a pretty literal interpretation of solstice rituals, in which villagers would call forth various spirits and kami and invite them to their baths. Chihiro’s place in all of it is that of a child going through their rite of passage into adulthood. She’s somewhere between child and adult in this rather upsetting point in her life, and in this world of spirits she also stands outside of societal boundaries. The literal translation of the title reinforces this idea further, 千と千尋の神隠し (Sen to Chihiro no Kamikakushi) or “Sen and Chihiro’s Spiriting Away” where 神隠し (kamikakushi) can also be read as hidden (kakushi) by gods (kami). In this way, I can see Chihiro passing through this world of spirits while moving on from her status as a child in her old home, to a more grown individual who’s embraced her past and accepted moving to a new home.

Other themes I can notice more now are ones that seem to be more critical of modern aspects of society, such as consumerism and environmentalism. Greed is a major motivation and pitfall for many characters in this movie, with varying obsessions over gold and food. I feel like this greed is mostly rooted in westernism, with Yubaba having a distinctly western-inspired dress and having much of her furnishings in her room look very European compared to the much more traditional Japanese styled architecture and furnishings of her workers. I think this ties into the influence the west had over Japan during the Meiji restoration, where in the process of modernization and “catching up” with the rest of the world, much of the traditional Japanese culture at the time may have been overwritten. Yubaba’s act of literally taking Chihiro’s name from her and turning it into Sen (which is the Japanese character for one thousand) can also be looked at as a commentary on employers’ fixation on sheer value even when it comes to living beings. Chihiro’s parents also turn into literal consumerist pigs, which is incredibly subtle and took me many viewings to understand this incredibly nuanced metaphor. Haku himself also gets his name stolen from him, albeit in a somewhat different manner from Chihiro. He exists as a manifestation of what was once a river in the human world, but the river was destroyed and had apartments built over its place, causing him to lose his home and his sense of self and identity. A pretty blunt commentary on both consumerism and the destruction of nature through urban expansion, which continues to be a concern for many in Japan to this day.

As far as Japanese cinema goes, I feel that animation should probably viewed from a separate perspective when comparing it to other films. The production is intense in its own ways, dealing with an almost entirely different set of hurdles under a pretty distinct medium, so comparing Spirited Away with other works that we’ve watched should be an interesting experience. While other Miyazaki films still win out for me, this viewing reminded me of how absolutely solid this movie is. A strong story with a lot of good commentary and a superb audiovisual experience makes it clear why this is considered by many to be the best animated film of all time.

Can’t beat Howl though, love that guy.

[reinaworks]

Crystallized [Genshin Fic] - Chapter 1

It had been a week since Kaeya had visited the area that was popular among the now absent boars. Eula’s reconnaissance company and Amber’s tracking skills hadn’t found anything unusual about the area that wasn’t unusual about the rest of the canyon. Kaeya hadn’t found anything either, but “hunting” wasn’t his specialty in the same way it was theirs. Yet maybe a more desperate eye would let him discern something new.

            The air wasn’t as thick as it was at the start of this “curse”, as it was now called in concerned discussions within the city. The Knights neither confirmed or denied this description, which only added fuel to the smoldering fear. Kaeya wanted it to be a curse, something they could heal with a task or object, but the alchemists were sure this event was caused by someone.

            Kaeya kicked a few rocks at the edges of the clearing. Maybe I’ll find another bottle. Acting on the assumption that there’d be another was his only lead in finding a trail. It was a calling sign left by a serial criminal. The pond in Springvale didn’t have a bottle like the original pond in Brightcrown did, but it also took the knights longer to find the new pond. Meaning someone could have easily taken it before he got a chance.

            Only Noelle had been there before him. He had found her alone by the water, to both their surprise, and immediately escorted her away. If someone had followed either of them, then in the period he was gone, they could have found and removed the bottle.

            There was a windless rustle among the leaves behind him, too noisy to be from a left behind animal. Kaeya shifted his weight and rested a hand on his sword. The rustling slowed and moved away from him, but it should have moved faster.

            In a moment, a jagged ice prison was created. Kaeya looked inside the prison and found a very cold witch.

            “Miss Mona Megistus, how can I help you?”

            Mona’s legs were ice, having still been liquid when her trapped her, but she held her arms tight as she shivered. “If I have to answer that, then maybe he is right about the knights being useless,” she retorted through clattering teeth.

            “Melting isn’t my specialty,” Kaeya said. “This area’s been off limits for over a month, so what are you doing here?”

            “My job.” The witch glared at him. Part of Kaeya wanted to interrogate her until she thawed out, but he felt no unreasonable animosity from her. He took a potion from his pouch and poured it over her legs.

            “Two things are going to happen. One: You will tell me everything you know. Two: We’ll go visit your employer together. The order in which those happen is not of much concern, but if they don’t happen,” Kaeya paused, shaking out the last few drops of the potion, “Mondstadt will become a very inhospitable place for you.”

            Since the death in Springvale three days prior, Kaeya had avoided Angel’s Share, but to get the information he needed, the was no way could avoid the winery. Mona walked ahead of him, a surprising show of trust given what happened a short while ago. When they arrived at Dawn Winery, the witch entered the manor with the confidence of someone who had been there dozens of times, swiftly exchanging pleasantries with the staff before opening the door to Diluc’s office.

            There was a glint of warmth in the sitting merchant’s eyes before he noticed Kaeya behind Mona. The smell of burnt paper and wood filled the room as Diluc slammed his hands on his desk. Heat visibly swirled around him.

            “I thought the Knights of Favonius had the situation under control,” Diluc began, “I believed you when you said so.”

            “Now Diluc,” Kaeya said stepping past Mona, “there’s uninvolved people in this room. If you’d like we can go somewhere else where –”

            “I won’t go anywhere with you.” Diluc glanced past Kaeya with a searching look, and when he received it, he shifted his eyes back to the knight. “You only come when you want something.”

            Kaeya used his vision to cool the room. “A few things actually, but I’ll start with cooperation. I’m asking you to share any information you have.”

            “So the knights can do more of nothing? Absolutely not.”

            “It’d actually be helpful,” Mona interjected, “Even though I’m an astrologist of renown, there are still aspects of the abyss that I struggle with. If I were able to combine my findings with the Favonius alchemists, both our groups would make progress.”

            Kaeya’s breath hitched. “You know it’s the abyss? Diluc, that changes things. If you know, they know.”

            Diluc shook his head and began dusting the ashes of his papers into a bin. “Without a Harbinger, most of the Fatui are just powerful idiots. And stop trying to freeze us.”

            “If only someone hadn’t attempted to set the building on fire. . .”

            “Ahem,” Mona cut in again, “Is it possible at some, or even one of the non-idiots could cause this ‘curse’?”

            “It’s not a curse,” Kaeya said, “it’s a type of liquified and condensed abyssal energy. Even without a Harbinger, anyone could follow the simple instruction of ‘pour’.”

            Mona quirked an eyebrow. “Liquified and condensed abyssal energy? That might explain the ‘curse’, but not the hilichurl and animal disappearances. After analyzing the past stars, I can say that those started far before the ponds.”

            “You’re a better scout than I thought if you know about those.”

            “Did you think I’d hire someone incompetent?” Diluc said.

            “Oh, why does everything have to be about you?” Kaeya countered. The two were on the verge of another argument when Mona moved between them, thrusting out her arms. The entire room filled with images of beautiful constellations, though ones poised to attack.

            “Can we please stay on task!” She glared at them like their tutor used to, and Kaeya struggled to keep a corner of his mouth from lifting up. Mona straightened, and the room returned to normal. “I believe the disappearances are connected but not a result of the ‘curse’. The animals remain present in Springvale, yes?”

            Kaeya nodded. “Not as many, but they’re still there. Still, the question is why Brightcrown?”

            “Outside of Knights and Adventurers,” Diluc said, “there’s no people. No villages or hamlets, just animals and monsters. A perfect place to hide.”

            He was a knight once, thought Kaeya. He brought his hand to his chin. “That’s comforting. Now we can adjust our efforts and –”  

            BOOM! Mona jumped, but Kaeya simply cocked his head in Diluc’s direction.  “Comforting? Someone died, Kaeya,”

“I know. I saw the body. I’m the one who’s been investigating since the first day.” Kaeya worked to keep his cool, but it was the knights that were putting their bodies, their minds¸ on the line.”

“Then it’s your failure,” Diluc said unconceding, “Besides, what more can the knights do to stop this? Throw another ball and consort with the enemy? Turned out fine for you last time.”

In three quick steps, before even Kaeya registered what he was doing, his fist connected with Diluc’s face. Diluc fell against a wall, wide eyes quickly angling as he touched his face.

“How low your anger has made you, Diluc,” Kaeya said. His fist still balled, shaking with the need to lash out again. “Even you entertain a drink or two with distasteful sorts if it suits your aims.”

The man on the floor sunk his head, stood for a moment, then returned to his desk. Mona’s eyes darted between the two, obvious unsurety keeping her from speaking. The grating of Diluc’s chair against the hardwood broke the silence.

Mona focused on Kaeya. “Captain Kaeya, if it’s possible I’d like to meet with Sir Albedo and Miss Sucrose.”

“Of course. And if you discover anything else,” Kaeya said, “don’t be afraid to pass it along.” Kaeya didn’t wait to receive a red eyed glare as he left the office. He did his best to say his goodbyes to the staff amicably, but it evident their argument had been well paid attention to. It didn’t matter to him though, after all his brother was right. Former brother. His only family left. Hopefully. Hopefully.

Kaeya touched his eyepatch lightly, like one would a pot on a stove. Of course, if it was hot, it would have already burned his face. A scar for the outside, to match the ones inside. The thought made Kaeya chuckle aloud and alone in the path on the way back to Mondstadt, and before he realized he was on his knees, curled over in an uncontrollable fit of laughter.

Despite needing to return back to headquarters, Kaeya avoided the building. He needed a few moments of calm, but he wanted to avoid the stables. He stalked all the way up to the cathedral courtyard and stood at the railing so he could overlook the city. It didn’t take him long to spot the familiar maid’s dress. Even though she tried to hide, her distinct armored dress always made her stand out. Kaeya would have smiled if he hadn’t seen who she was with.

Noelle stood with the Fatui man a little aways from the door to Goth Grand Hotel. The duo looked deep in a conspiracy from the way they checked over their shoulders.

She’s allowed her friends. He thought. If it were a knight or a citizen, there’d be less of an issue, but he was the one who said to support her decisions. The duo moved closer to another, and Kaeya clenched his jaw. When she smiled at the other man, Kaeya had to stop himself from gliding down and interrupting them. But that action would only make things worse between them.

He was sure Noelle resented him now. Since that day in Springvale, Kaeya hadn’t been able keep his promise to work the stables with her and the few times they’d crossed paths, she avoided him. Occasionally, Kaeya would peek into the infirmary during her shift and as she attended to the patients, hiding just out of sight in the shadows where he belonged.

Bit by bit, he lost those he cared about. One day, maybe I’ll lose myself. The nightmarish image of a blazing Mondstadt overlayed the city before him and he gritted his teeth. “No, I refute that ending.”

“What ending?”

The question was asked by a clear melodic voice, like chimes on wind.

“Venti.”

The traveling bard sat on the stone railing and strummed his lyre. His clear green eyes seemed to bore into Kaeya. “It’d be terrible if this story were to end so soon. It’s sure to be my most popular song yet.”

“What song?” Kaeya crossed his arms, ready to appease his sometimes-drinking buddy’s current whim.

“One of a hard-working knight and a sad princess,” Venti strummed his lyre again and looked towards Noelle. “I’m desperate for it to have a happy ending, ya’know for Windblume next year, but I can make a tragedy work.”

His tone was gentle, but the warning was clear. They both watched Noelle until her conversation finished and she began to walk in the direction of Favonius headquarters. Her Fatui friend watched her until she disappeared behind a building as well.

Then he swiveled his head to where the two observers were perched. Kaeya fought the urge to flinch, and he could sense the other man’s glare from behind his mask. The Fatui slightly bowed to them before going inside the hotel.

Through clenched teeth, Kaeya spoke. “Venti, could you keep your ear to the ground for me?”

The bard dryly chuckled. “You know my price.”

In his office, Kaeya leaned back, closing his eyes in a surface level attempt at rest. He had no intention, nor belief, that he’d get any now that he’d have to thoroughly scour Brightcrown for any evidence. He still hadn’t received news from Lisa’s contacts in Sumeru about the origin of the bottle. The sketch Albedo made was incredibly accurate, so maybe the scholars were as stumped as he was.

On his desk was the response from the perfumier he wrote to in Liyue, but they didn’t recognize the bottle in the sketch either. Always questions, never answers. There was a knocking on his door.

“Come in,” he said arranging himself. He was surprised to see icy blue hair enter with a letter in her hand. “Eula.”

“Kaeya.” Her normal tone never held warmth, but the way she said his name was concerning. “The Fatui have contacted us about the ‘curse’. Apparently, their members have been getting sick about as long as our knights.”

“And why are they asking about it now?”

Eula shook her head and gave him the paper. “They aren’t asking anything, they’re demanding answers we don’t have. Not to mention their members have been disappearing more than usual.”

He finished scanning the letter. It was full of demands and accusations, par the course for Mond’s favorite guests. “I’ll pen a response, but there isn’t anything we can do about this.”

“Then what about Noelle and her ‘friend’? We can do something about that.”

“We said we’d trust her.”

“You said that. Her friendship is a liability.” Eula was rarely calm, but was able to have her worst moods quell by two people, neither of which were here now.

“This conversation has already played out. If there’s nothing else,” Kaeya motioned to the door, which only infuriated Eula more. She slammed her hands on his desk.

“I think you’ve been blinded. Ever since the ball, you’ve been softer on her.”

“First, no need to be rude,” Kaeya said, “Second, Noelle is our trusted maid and friend, so if being softer helps her, then that’s what we should do.”

She glared at him, but then straightened. “Then all your venturing into the Brightcrown has made you sick. There’s one more thing. One of their squad leaders has been missing since the ball.”

Kaeya’s eyebrows shot up. “What happened?”

“Don’t avoid this, Kaeya, we know you had something to do with that night. Chunks of ice were found on the balcony. You’re the type whose disappearance goes noticed,” Eula said.

The Calvary Captain exhaled a heavy breath. “You don’t believe me when I tell the truth, so why should I expect you to do so when I lie.”

“Why did you fight him?”

Noelle’s tearful face surfaced clear in his memory as if she stood in front of him. He clenched and unclenched his fist. “I can’t tell you, so at least accept that I had good reason to harm that man. To my regret, I did leave him alive.”

“To your regret? Ugh,” Eula pushed her hair out of her eyes, “Well, now you’re the person they blame.”

“I went to the bar after I left. Ask the owner.”

Eula sighed. “Even if you didn’t kidnap him, you still fought him and the Fatui want answers. He’s some Snezhnayan heir.”

“Not answers, Eula, they want punishment,” Kaeya said as he curled the fist in his lap. “We don’t have time to deal with this, but if they’d like, I’ll gladly speak to each and every last one of them. One on one or all at once, it doesn’t matter. Maybe then this ordeal will end.”

Eula’s gaze was cold, but not confrontational as it normally was. “Hearing you speak your true feelings is rare and couldn’t have come at a worse time.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Gentle Sins ch.3 (BAON)

Summary:   Edge is heading back into work, but since when do his days ever go smoothly?

Tags: Spicyhoney, kustard, Established Relationships, Hurt/Comfort, Aftermath of Kidnapping

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

It was entirely too soon for him to be returning to work by Edge’s measure. Two days off after a kidnapping was a paltry concession and he would have preferred at least working from home for the rest of the week. The Embassy wasn’t particularly far from New New Home, but depending on traffic and stoplights, it could take nearly half an hour to drive between them, not including the time it took to get to his car.

Time enough for so many things to go wrong and for Stretch to be alone when it did.

But despite his preference, two mornings after he’d brought Stretch home, Edge was pulling into the Embassy parking lot and ignoring the shouts of the protestors on the other side of the street as he walked in, though he didn’t extend his cane until he was inside the front entrance.

The issue at hand was not with his employment. Stretch was the one all but pushing him out their front door and he’d done so with a massive spew of words coupled with wild gestures, all of which boiled down to him not needing a babysitter while he was at home.

Edge didn’t have the soul to argue with him about it, particularly since he was right. There were already enough new violations of his boundaries, and past experience taught that he would start to chafe under them soon enough. Perhaps it was already beginning; exhausted as he was, he’d still slept restlessly the night before and while Stretch often tossed and turned, this time it was enough to disturb Edge’s own sleep, his subconscious crying out that this was not a familiar level of thrashing.

He’d still been in bed when Edge left though not asleep, muttering something about heading down to his lab to check on his experiments. Edge hoped that he did; if he could get absorbed in his own version of mad science, it would be a good distraction for the day, one that was very much needed. Red was supposed to stop by at some point about the bodyguard assignment and while Edge asked his brother to wait for him to get home, there was no telling if he would. If he deemed Edge’s presence unnecessary, Red would do as he liked and to hell with waiting for his brother.

With that in mind, Edge’s plan was to work as swiftly as he could today without sacrificing accuracy so that he could leave on time, perhaps even early, in an effort to thwart anything Red might attempt for his own amusements. But as so often happened, plans had a way of changing and in very unexpected ways.

When he’d arrived at the Embassy that morning, he’d been hyperaware of the stares that followed behind him from the moment he came through the door. From the security guard at his station to the interns to the janitors, eyes and whispers lingered in his wake. Whatever hopes he’d had for discretion about the kidnapping incident were quickly dismissed; it was obviously the talk of the office though no one was bold enough to confront him about it directly. As Red often said, ‘the only way to keep a secret is if ya kill the guy who told ya’ and considering how many witnesses were at the bar that night when Stretch and Jeff were taken, that option was not exactly feasible, if it ever was.

The local news was plastered with stories, some sticking with the one provided by the Embassy and others filled with wild speculations. Monsters were hardly immune to gossip and Stretch often featured on both sides of the rumor equation.

As for his usual partner in crime, Jeff was taking the week off and Antwan with him, and while Edge could appreciate the urge to get back to some form of normalcy, he couldn’t help a twinge of jealousy to think the two of them were probably curled in bed together sleeping while he was fending off the glares of his co-workers.

He deliberately kept his limping pace normal on his way to his office, refusing to give the gossip any further fuel. That worked well enough until he went inside. Janice was already at her desk and she looked up when he entered, her long ears swiveling in his direction and her pink nose twitching as she gave him a narrow look.

He wondered if she was disappointed in him for coming in today. The thought made him want to look away from her direct gaze and he forced himself not to, saying crisply, “Good morning.”

But perhaps he was only projecting his own troubled thoughts because Janice only replied with a certain gentle concern, “Good morning. How is Stretch doing?”

Yes, the gossip traveled quickly, indeed. Edge hesitated, then said with cautious honesty, “He’s doing better.”

She nodded and didn’t press. Absently, she reached out to straighten the picture frame on her desk of her two children. Edge understood the impulse. “If you need anything, either of you, please do let me know.”

“I will,” Edge said. He meant it. Somehow in the past year their relationship had gone from a strictly working one to something akin to friends, a change that came about right around the time he’d married Stretch. Another way his love had changed his life for the better.

Still, it was a relief for her expression to change in a flash from motherly concern to businesslike briskness. “I’ve already emailed your agenda for the day, nothing particularly robust, but you do have a meeting in an hour with Toriel.”

“Toriel.” Edge blinked in surprise. Technically, Toriel didn’t work for the Embassy in a similar way to Stretch. She acted as Frisk’s guardian, and while she certainly handled things she likely shouldn’t at her own discretion, they were the diplomat, not her. What could she want to discuss that she couldn’t have come to their home?

He set his laptop case down and dug out his phone, opening the email app and scrolled to his daily agenda to scan the list. The schedule said only, ‘Meeting with Toriel, 10am’ and gave no clues. “Did she happen to say what it was about?”

Janice shook her head. “I’m afraid not, she only contacted and asked for an appointment. I couldn’t think of a reason not to, so I gave her the first available timeslot.” Her voice uplifted at the end, turning the statement into a question.

“Of course you should,” Edge said, belatedly, “I’m perfectly willing to talk with her. I’m simply confused as to why.”

Janice offered him a faint smile and raised eyebrows. “I suppose in an hour you’ll find out.”

“I suppose I will,” Edge sighed. He picked up his laptop and headed into his office, already considering whether to brave the gauntlet again for a cup of coffee or to relinquish is pride and ask Janice to retrieve one. He wasn’t particularly in the mood for any surprises and a meeting with the former Queen would likely offer them, in spades.

~~*~~

If there was one thing to appreciate about meeting with Toriel, it was her promptness. At precisely 9:59 am Janice buzzed him that she’d arrived.

Edge took a moment to drain the last of the lukewarm coffee from his cup, brought to him by Janice without any prompting from him, further proof of what an excellent assistant she was. He saved the document he was working on before he replied, “Send her in.”

He’d hardly finished speaking when his door opened, Toriel’s bulk filling the entryway. She had to duck her head to fit through the entrance, barely missing bumping her horns on the trim.

“Please, come in,” Edge said. He ignored his cane where it leaned against the side of his chair and instead walked cautiously as he came around it. He gestured to the sofa rather than the chairs at his desk; Toriel was not a small Monster, but his office was designed for visits with everyone, up to and including Asgore himself.

“Thank you,” Toriel said. Her voice was soft enough that it seemed one should strain to hear it, and yet it still carried clearly through the room. She seated herself where he’d indicated, folding her lightly furred hands into her lap.

Edge hadn’t spent a great deal of time with Toriel outside of Embassy functions and the few times he’d traveled along with the diplomats. Even then, he’d kept a cautious distance from her. Despite the small glasses perched on her muzzle, her soft purple dress and motherly cardigan she wore, as a Boss Monster, there was a certain aura of power that she carried that no casual outfit could stifle. Her status might be simply as Frisk’s guardian, but even Humans couldn’t fail to notice it. Adding in that Edge had no basis of comparison with her counterpart in Underfell, put simply, she made him faintly uncomfortable, despite the common interest in puns she shared with several members of his family.

“Would you like a drink?” He barely caught himself before asking if she’d care for tea, already knowing the answer to that. She and Stretch should be closer friends, they could bond over their mutual dislike of the King. “Water? Fruit juice?”

“Water would be lovely,” Toriel said. The words were merely polite, he sincerely doubted she’d come here for refreshments.

From the small fridge in the corner, he retrieved a bottle of water. He set it on a coaster rather than hand it to her and took the seat across from her, folding his hands into his lap in an unconscious mirror of hers. “What can I do for you?” Edge asked.

Without preamble, Toriel said, “You saved my child’s life, and mine.”

That was far from any topic he’d expected she wanted to discuss. If anything, he’d supposed she might wish for more personal information regarding the kidnapping and rather than trusting the gossips, she’d gone to a reliable source. That she might want to talk about their last meeting hadn’t even occurred to him.

The incident in California was not so long ago and yet, despite his lingering scars, the event itself had mostly left his mind. Yes, it was traumatic and yes, he’d certainly be feeling the aftereffects for some time. But it wasn’t his way to linger over such things; it happened, it was over, and now there was only to move onto introducing new safeguards to keep such a thing from happening again.

He considered Toriel’s statement with care before offering cautiously, “Anything I could do to keep you and your child safe, I was willing to offer.”

“I’m sure you were, and are.” Toriel’s eyes were a shade of red unlike his own eye lights. In a way, they were more like Red’s and his way of seeing things deeper than should be possible. “And I am willing to offer my own gift for that kindness. I’ve noticed your leg is still troubling you.”

Edge struggled against shifting uncomfortably, forcing himself not to look down at the leg in question. He was wearing the brace today as he always did in the office, not because he thought he particularly needed it, but due to his suspicions that Janice would discreetly tattle to Stretch if he didn’t. It was a tradeoff for leaving their strictly business relationship behind. “It’s healing, it simply takes time.”

“Indeed,” Toriel inclined her head in agreement. “I’d like to help you, if you’ll allow it. It wouldn’t begin to pay my debt to you but—”

“Your Highness,” Edge interrupted gently, “you don’t owe me anything. I’m well aware that you saved my life after the explosion.”

“I’m no longer the Queen, Toriel is fine,” Her interruption was less gentle and for one who claimed no title, her tone made him want to straighten his spine and come to attention, a habit he’d thought gone along with Underfell. “And your life wouldn’t have needed saving if you hadn’t saved mine.”

“Toriel,” Edge said deliberately, “if you’re offering to heal me, I have a doctor, they’ve done as much with healing magic as they can.”

“I’m sure they have. Which is why I’m offering. My skills are somewhat more…” she hesitated, settling on, “Robust, than other Monsters.”

As a Boss Monster, that was surely true, and Edge couldn’t help considering it.

She’d used her magic on him before, and while that was an emergency, he could hardly protest her doing it again. And what she was offering was gift unlike any other. The opportunity to be healed, to be able to return to his normal activities was tempting to be sure, but what irritated more was his brother keeping him at arm’s-length during the kidnapping. If he’d been more capable, if his leg wasn’t slowing him down, would Red have forced him to stay home instead of allowing him to provide some real assistance? There was no way to tell now, but if he could keep it from happening in the future…?

But Edge also knew that things that seemed too good to be true often were and that there was little in life that came without some sort of price attached. He’d gotten such a gift from the Angel already, if one believed in such things, in the love given to him by Stretch. Asking for more seemed greedy.

Toriel only waited serenely, perhaps understanding his inner turmoil.

“There’s no chance this could have a negative effect,” Edge said slowly. “I’ve made a great deal of progress already, I won't have it set back."

“None at all,” Toriel assured him. “I wouldn’t offer if there was even a chance.” She shifted in her seat, briefly looking away as if his bookcases had suddenly caught her interest. “I would have offered sooner but you must understand, this sort of healing is very draining. If it got out I could do this, Monsters would be lining up at my door, begging for treatment.” She shook her head, her mouth pulling downward unhappily, and suddenly she seemed older and weary. “I can only do as much as I can.”

“I understand.” He did. It was the same reason they’d chosen to keep Monsters’ ability to heal from the Humans. There were limits to the care anyone could provide. Still, his immediate impulse to agree warred with his cautious reluctance. “Then why now?”

“Why not now?” Toriel countered. She spread her empty hands in something like a plea. “I can’t heal every Monster, but what point is it for me to have these gifts if I can’t use them to help someone who was injured by helping me? I owe you a debt, Edge, and I mean to pay it.”

The steel in her voice resonated and the determined need to repay a debt was certainly something he could understand. Edge straightened and inclined his head formally, “I accept your offer.”

A smile lit Toriel’s face and that melancholy fell away as she clapped her hands together like a child rather than the powerful, centuries-old Monster that she was. “Wonderful! Let’s get started, then, shall we?”

“Now?” Edge said, surprised. He’d expected her to need to make some preparations, perhaps arrange for a secret meeting someplace out of the way and not well watched. If there was such a place when one considered his brother.

But Toriel only nodded. “Oh, yes. It won’t take long.”

She rose from the sofa and crouched down next to him. A bit nonplussed, he helped her unbuckle the splint and remove it, and as always, there was a slight, uncomfortable twinge with its support gone. Worse was the awkward intimacy in the way she settled her hands on his leg, even over his trousers, her fingers shifting into precise positions as she closed her eyes and summoned her magic.

Edge had been healed before, too many times to count. Rarely in Underfell, healing there was usually scoffed at and often considered a weakness as it was a difficult skill for those with LV. But in this universe, Stretch, Blue, even Toriel herself had healed him in the past, little wounds mostly, except for California.

He hadn’t been in a position to pay attention the last time she’d used her magic on him, drifting in and out of consciousness, but here there was nothing to distract him. Her magical signature was a deft one, not the brusque force of his brother or familiar honeyed languidness of Stretch or even Blue, who managed to somehow be both forceful and nearly timid at the same time. The greenness of healing came at a delicate trickle at first, seeking and finding the places in his leg that still ached with cunning skill, sinking in. In tiny increments, that trickle became a flood, and then a torrent, and the sensation was indescribable. Not pain, that was far too simple a word, but the deep power that carried healing into his leg and further, seeking out his very essence. Edge shied away instinctively as it sought out his soul, trying to escape that implacable, almost ethereal touch, but it didn’t invade or violate, only swirled briefly through his ribcage in a sort of greeting before returning to the task at hand, or rather, at leg, before it slowly withdrew into empty nothingness.

Edge opened his sockets, hardly aware of closing them, to see Toriel closing her own eyes as she wobbled on her feet, sinking back to sit on the floor with her legs tucked under her and her skirt demurely covering them.

“Your Highness,” Edge said in concern. He reached for her automatically, hesitating before touching her. Even though his gloves he could still feel the aura of roused magic surrounding her.

She opened her eyes. “Toriel,” she corrected with a slight smile, waving his hands away. She retrieved the bottle of water from the table, opening it and taking a long drink, then sighed out, “I’m fine. How are you?”

In answer, Edge stood, striding across the room and back again. The lingering weakness and frustrating ache of the past weeks were entirely gone. The urge to tests his limits was strong and he wondered giddily what anyone would make of it if they caught him racing up and down the stairwell with his coattails flapping behind him.

As if reading his thoughts and perhaps she was to some extent, they wouldn’t be difficult to guess, Toriel cautioned, “I suggest you wear the brace for a little longer. It might keep the curious from asking questions.”

Edge was about to agree, then amended it, “I won’t lie to Stretch. If he asks.”

To his surprise, Toriel let out of a peal of soft laughter and shook her head. “I wouldn’t worry about that. He’ll know the moment he sees you.”

That he hadn’t expected and Edge could only stare at her, aghast, “What?

Her smile turned incredulous. "You have my magic clinging to you, do you truly think he won't notice? Papyrus of all people?"

He wasn’t quite sure what she meant by that and he wished he'd known before he agreed. Well, it was too late to change anything now, wasn’t it, and that was a meal he’d have to swallow when it came to the table.

Belatedly, he realized Toriel was attempting to climb up from the floor and he hastily leaned down to help. Her weight was easily triple his own but between the two of them, they managed to get her back on her feet.

“Well!” Toriel said with a soft sigh as she dusted off her dress. “I’ll leave you to your duties, then. I need to get back to Frisk, they have a meeting this afternoon with the Prime Minister of Japan, and I wanted to brush up on the agenda.”

“Yes, of course, your—Toriel,” Edge correctly hastily. He couldn’t help flexing his knee again, still giddy with the pain-free movement of the joint. “Thank you, Toriel. This means a great deal to me, past simply healing.” She’d already turned to the door and paused, turning back to him.

There was a certain familiar impishness to her smile as she said, “If you truly wanted to thank me, you could try calling me Tori.”

In answer, Edge only bowed deeply to her and said, sincerely, “I’m afraid the attempt would be too much for me and might undo all the damage you healed. I would hate to be the cause of ruining all your hard work.”

Her soft laughter washed over him in a gentle wave and she shook her head. “Well, we wouldn’t want that, would we.” Her amused expression shifted to seriousness, “And Edge? Anything I could do to help you, I was willing to offer.”

Edge inclined his head in wry acknowledgement and with a last smile, she went out the door, leaving him alone in his office. Alone with his leg in perfect working condition and itching to be used.

A jog up the stairs might be out of the question, but there was no reason he couldn’t walk down to get another cup of coffee. With the brace on for now, and by next week? Perhaps he could risk going without, at least in the morning, if the stares died down by then. Time would tell.

He sat down to strap the blasted thing back on, its lack of necessity making it all the more annoying.

Soon, he told himself, soon.

Despite the events of the past few days, Edge felt lighter than he had in weeks. He only hoped Stretch’s reaction would be as pleased as his own.

Once the brace was properly on, Edge retrieved his cup from his desk and went down the hallway to the breakroom to fill it, giving Janice’s curious glance a sedate nod and careful to keep his steps slow and measured so as to not rouse any suspicions.

On the leg brace he would concede, an annoying necessity to be sure. But the cane? That, he left behind.

tbc

[lumina-rose]

Tear You Apart

Chapter 2/4

AO3 Link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32168824/chapters/79765408#workskin 

Pairing:

Laszlo x Reader

Summary:

Mere months after the conclusion of the Beecham case, Dr.Kreizler and his associates are asked once again to solve a new series of murders that plague the streets of New York. They are joined by the alienist's new assistant, who's presence soon unravels startling revelations. Not only within the case, but also within the mind of one of their own.

(This story is set between the events of Season 1 and Season 2)

Warnings:

Murder Mystery, Graphic Description of Corpses, slight dark!Laszlo (kinda. Think Will “This is my design” Graham), Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut (MINORS DNI), Minor Violence, Friends to Lovers,Assistant, Boss/Employee Relationship,Tension, Sexual Tension, Mutual Pining.

(More Future Warnings TBD)

Notes:

Chapter 2: Love & Hate

It had been a full day since your strange interaction with Dr. Kreizler.

After waiting to for him to gather everyone involved with the investigation, you were troubled when no call came. Part of you worried that it was due to your disturbing experience, but you fought back your anxieties with logic. Even if something had happened between the two of you, Laszlo would never let it interfere with the case. Still, that did not stop you from worrying about the alienist. Your mind constantly returning to that moment.

His tired appearance, caused by countless hours of work and stress, which were aided by sleepless nights theorizing the motives and background of the murderer that haunted New York. The vacant trace-like state that overtook him, as though his actions were being controlled by something else. Someone else. The warm feeling of his palm against your skin, a feeling that would have been calming and welcome, had it not been placed around your throat. Yet, the firm but gentle hold had thrilled you- excited you. But it also frightened you. And even now, you debated your mixed, complex emotions. There was fear, yes, but excitement too. Or was there both? Or were they the same? What was the difference between the two?

You had felt like this before, in fleeting moments and never quite as strong. You had felt it with small admirers from your past, though nothing ever came from these interactions. You had felt it when you first began your work at the Kreizler Institute, upon seeing the care taken to provide the city's troubled youth with a sanctuary, free from the pressures of society. And recently, in small moments with Dr. Kreizler, himself, after working by his side tirelessly. On your trips to the Opera, when you both would be given a chance to simply talk- not about work or the mentally ill- just genuine conversations, discussing your hobbies, interests, and hopes for the future. One particular moment had stuck out to you, thinking back. It had been late, and you had joined Kreizler back at his home after a long day of work. You shared a drink together, when he finally asked you what you hoped to gain from learning from him.

Usually when men asked about what you wanted to do as a working woman, they were against the notion that you wished to become an alienist, believing that a woman could never become a doctor despite the fact that there were a rare few that already were. Indeed, even with the likes of Marcus, Lucius, and John Moore there was apprehension. With Dr. Kreizler, however, he never tried to persuade you otherwise and spoke only with respect and encouragement in regards to your dream. Ever since that moment, you had harbored affection for the alienist, though you would never act on it. If not for the sake of your own feelings, then for Laszlo's reputation.

"Ms. (L/n)?"

Your mind found its way back to the present, returning you to your surroundings. You stood in the small apartment that had become your home, a space you had rented out from a Mr. Louis Arnett. He was an older man who had been left a widower, and remained unmarried to this day. While he was a bit older than yourself, perhaps eleven years your senior, it wasn't impossible to imagine the possibility of him remarrying. It often made you wonder if his lack of interest in remarriage was due to his age or grief. Due to the sudden passing of his late wife, he had moved to a new house in the city, but offered for you to live in his previous residence, as long as you kept paying your bill on time. Since the Kreizler Institute was more generous in terms of wages, that had never been an issue for you. Still, sometimes the older landlord would come by to check on the space, often taking time to sit and chat with you despite your insistence that it wasn't necessary.

"I must apologize, Mr. Arnett." You sighed, giving a small smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. "I'm afraid my mind is elsewhere as of late."

The older gentleman sat at a small table in the center of the room, drinking from a cup. He wore his typical suit, all black- save for one pin attached to his tie. A lily was depicted on the small item, as a tribute to his late wife. You eyed the item warily now, only being reminded of the bloodied bouquets.

He gave an understanding look. "As I can imagine. Nasty business. I must say, I'm rather concerned about that alienist you say you work for....Kreshner, was it? Letting a lady such as yourself work well into the night, with all these horrible attacks going on."

"Kreizler. Doctor Kriezler." You corrected. Another burning heat flashed through you, upon Arnett's mentioning of your employer, wrapping around the collar of your dress jacket. "As for myself, I am capable of finding my way home safely."

"Of that, I am certain. I do hope the man doesn't keep you there too late." Arnett relented, chuckling slightly at your reaction.

You turned to the landlord, scoffing.

"I assure you, if Dr. Kreizler had it his way, I'd be back well before the sun had begun to set. If anything, it's at my insistence that I spent so much time at the Institute."

"Is that so?"

You were used to speaking casually with the older gentleman, during such visits, but your comment seemed to intrigue the man. Perhaps you should be a bit more careful with your words. You stiffened slightly, rushing to correct your mistake.

"With the attack of those four women, I believe we should be using what time we have to catch the person responsible. My beauty sleep can wait, for now."

The man nodded, thinking for a moment, before standing to come closer to my side. Holding a hand out, he gave a quick goodbye. "Very well, Ms. (L/n). I suppose I shouldn't keep you. Though, I do wish you would take care of yourself."

"I thank you for your concern, Mr. Arnett." You nodded. "I should be heading to the Institute soon, anyways. Perhaps I can walk you down?"

"You are too kind, my dear."

You brushed off the endearment, convincing yourself it was merely a phrase he used often, and went to join the man in his exit. Once outside, the sounds and smells of the street hit you, reminding you that even with a killer on the loose, nothing could stop the momentum of New York. You escorted Mr. Arnett on the sidewalk, waiting as he attempted to hail a cab. After a few long minutes of idle conversation, a small carriage approached, stopping before the two of you. You gave a quick goodbye to the landlord, beginning to rush him away, as you grew more concerned with the time. Finally, once the cab was out of sight, you let out a heavy sigh.

It wasn't that the man's company was unpleasant. In fact, you were grateful to find a landlord in the city who was so welcoming and reasonable with rent prices, there was just something about Mr. Arnett that seemed odd. It was as though he sought to interject himself into a person's life, whether or not it was welcomed. Though you were now used to the man's occasional visits, it had been a bit unsettling at first. From what you'd heard before moving here, most people in the city didn't bat an eye when it came to the lives of strangers. Then again, he was a widower, offering up what used to be his home to anyone who would be willing to pay. Maybe having a woman in the house reminded him of happier times?

Now on your own, your mind was drawn back to Dr. Kreizler and the investigation that had taken over your current daily life. You had been a bit untruthful in your conversation with Mr. Arnett earlier, in saying that you needed to return to the Kriezler Institute for the day. In fact, you had been given the day off in advance by the alienist, for what he called a "well deserved break". Nevermind the fact that he had ignored you when you suggested he do the same. Looking back on it now, you wished he had taken your advice. These murders were clearly effecting him, if yesterday was any indication.

The walk to the Institute had been short, given that you only lived a few city blocks away. Even from the sidewalk outside, you could hear the cheers and laughter of the children inside, followed quickly by the voice of one of the matrons. You smiled lightly, knowing that at least the patients of the Institute seemed happy, despite the dark times the city was currently facing. It reminded you why your efforts in the investigation were so important. You faced the ugliest parts of life, so that they wouldn't have to.

When you entered the front doors of the Institute, you were relieved to see that no one appeared to be in the halls. While you usually enjoyed the company of the children, you didn't want to be pulled away from your current goal of finding Dr. Kreizler. You made your way towards the alienist's study, knowing you might find him there. After the fourth victim had been found, there was no doubt in your mind that he had once again stayed up all night, trying to go over every detail of the murder.

You found the door to the doctor's study left ajar, a sight that unsettled you. You crept inside, calling out softly for the doctor, before stepping in fully. After receiving no response, you glanced around. The walls of bookshelves towered over you, but you noticed spaces were there were empty slots where certain books were meant to be, no doubt to help create the ever-growing mountain on the main center table. Papers and pages were scattered about, messily, along with notes and photos from the murder victims. A chalk board had been placed inside the study, and had stayed there ever since the new case began. Countless questions were written, some organized to certain corners, while others were placed haphazardly.

Sleep fascination? Somnophilia?

Meaning of Flowers? Personal or Symbolic?

Physical Strength- perhaps a labor worker or military background?

Love and Hate?

Your eyes landed on the last question, drawing you back to your last discussion with Sara. Only now it seemed the question wasn't love or hate, rather love and hate. Much like your fear and excitement, it seemed Dr. Kreizler was starting to blur the two. In your distraction, you had failed to notice the door to the side laboratory open, where Laszlo emerged from, followed closely by a young girl.

"Ms. (L/n)?"

The gentle questioning tone in words were countered only by the rough, scratchiness in his voice. Turning quickly, you gave the doctor a startled stare. The circles under his eyes were darker, confirming your suspicions, but you were pleased to see that he had taken the time to clean up his appearance overnight.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Kreizler, I had called for you but you never answered." You explained.

"It's quite alright, I was just talking with Loretta." He gave a small smile to the girl, who clung to his good hand. When his eyes came back to you, a small jolt went through you. "I hope you weren't waiting too long."

"Never."

The man quickly told the young girl to go join the other children outside, earning a silent nod and goodbye from her. As she rushed out, her hair bounced behind her, as she eagerly went to find her friends. You couldn't help but grin. Loretta was one of the more troubled youths. After an incident with a wild dog as a small child, she had been left with an intense fear of all animals. That fear later formed into troubling habits of torturing and hurting any creature she came across. Even going as far as to set fire to a neighboring cat's tail. You never would expect such a sweet smile to hide such violent tendencies.

"How did she react to the monkey?" You asked, curiously, looking back at Laszlo.

"She's improved, but is still afraid of them unless someone shows that they're friendly. It may be a while until she can deal with animals on her own." He nodded, mostly to himself, as if making a mental note. He stayed in his spot, by the door, as he continued. "I wasn't expecting you, I'm afraid. I believe I told you that you could have the day off."

"You did."

"And yet, you are here."

Still, he remained in place, as if he wanted to be near an exit at all times. You paused for a moment, stepping back towards the chalk board.

"I wanted to discuss something with you, but if you are otherwise occupied, I can wait." You said.

He stepped closer now, but still a good distance away. For some reason, that fact irked you. "Then you caught me at just the right moment. Tell me, what's troubling you?"

Ah, avoidance.

You didn't miss the fake curiosity in his tone, as he vaguely asked you what was on your mind. It was a test, and you both knew it. Would you mention his strange behavior? Did you dare? Did you want to? Did he want you to, or was this simply an attempt to forget the action, altogether?

You bit the inside of your cheek, biting back a frown. Two could play these games. "I wanted to share a thought I had about the case."

Instantly, Kreizler approached the table, overlooking the piles of read and unread books, in order to watch your expression, gauge your behavior. His expression became serious. "Go on?"

"I was thinking about why the killer used chloroform on his victims, despite failing to render them unconscious." You answered, your eyes meeting his. "I thought about the possibility that perhaps putting them to sleep wasn't his goal, nor was it to be used as a painkiller. As you pointed out, if reducing pain was it's purpose then he wouldn't resort to strangling the women. So then what if his goal was merely to disorient them, to make them unable to fight back? Perhaps the combination of panic and the effects of the drug caused them to go into shock? If that were his goal, then that would explain why he continues to use it."

The alienist pondered this for a moment. "He’s created an obsession with his true target, creating a delusion and using his victims as substitutes for her. If this is true, then perhaps the use of chloroform was simply a desperate attempt to keep them from fighting, from breaking the illusion he's created in his mind."

"That would also explain why he would then turn to using violence against them when they struggled." You nodded. "I suspect our latest victim fought a bit harder than the others, due to the stronger markings on her."

"It also supports the killer’s effort to cover up the wounds of the struggle. It would suggest that the victims didn’t want it to happen, when his delusion depends on their submission to him." Laszlo added, looking over the photographs. "He's become obsessed his target, taking pleasure from the idea that they will accept him, and escalating to violence when he's denied that pleasure."

He moved with a strong purpose, over to the chalk board, writing down a new series of thoughts and questions. There was a serious focus in his gaze, contradicted by a light glint in his brown eyes. You focused on his hand, as he quickly scratched the white chalk against the board's surface, following its path until he was done. The doctor stepped back, his chest heaving up and down slightly. A slight, satisfied smirk on his face.

"How did you come to this conclusion?" He asked, curiously, sighing.

A burning blush had reached your face, and your heart raced at the fact that your theory had brought some level of joy to the man. Blinking, you looked away, slightly embarrassed by your reaction. "I had an idea back at the morgue, before you..."

...before you grabbed my throat. You had trailed off, not wishing to speak the words aloud. Still, It seemed your message got through to Laszlo.

Now his eyes turned away, looking to the ground, as a rosy color reached the apples of his cheeks. There was a mixture of emotions in his expression, ones you could see he was fighting to hold back. Shame, embarrassment, regret, and something more. He no longer stood far away from you, as he had been just a moment before, yet you could tell he wanted nothing more than to be closer to the exit of the room.

“I must apologize, it was improper on my part and disrespectful to your boundaries." A hand went through his hair, a nervous reaction. "I fear I’m not sure what came over me.”

He didn't seem capable of looking at you, and you found yourself desperate to see his eyes. Taking a small step towards him, his head slowly turned to you. You gave him a reassuring smile.

"This case has been disturbing for all of us, Doctor, I won't blame you for being effected by it. Trying to understand the thoughts of the person responsible for these acts has proven to me that there is darkness in all of us... and that it's hard not to be consumed by it." You said, hoping to sound understanding.

You now stood only a couple feet away. His eyes met yours, as his expression gave way to something softer. "I’m not sure how I could make it up to you, after frightening you in such a way. If I still...”

Now you understood. There was the slightest tremor in his voice, but it was there. He was afraid. Afraid of his actions, afraid of how you'd react, afraid that you were scared of him now.

"I don't fear you, Laszlo." You admitted, softly. "I fear for you. If you truly wish to make it up to me, then allow yourself a break, if only for a day."

"I.." He shook his head, stubbornly, and glanced back to the photographs. "I can't-"

"-you will do no good if you work yourself to death before we even find a suspect." You countered, standing your ground. "Perhaps time away would clear your head. Please, Laszlo."

You bit you lip, as you prayed your heart would stop racing. You knew that Kreizler could be stubborn, often not listening to reason once he'd made up his mind. He paused, debating whether or not to listen to your advice. The ghost of a smile flickered over his face, before disappearing just as quickly as it came.

"How long has it been since we last went to the opera?"

You stared, unable to process his question for moment, as you focused solely on the word: “We”. After your initial shock, you cleared you throat. "I..I believe a month, perhaps?"

In truth, you weren't sure. After your investigation began, days and nights began to blur. You knew it had been more than a couple of weeks, at the least. Kreizler chuckled, softly.

"Well, then we must remedy that, shouldn't we?"

You weren't sure why you were so nervous. Going to the opera with Laszlo wasn't a first for you, so why did it feel so different this time?

You stared at yourself in the mirror, after changing into yet another dress for the outing. Perhaps it was because you felt surprised that Laszlo had asked you to join him, after the events of the day before. Or maybe it was because you couldn't get his actions out of your head, constantly thinking back to the feeling of his hand on you. You had been understanding that his action wasn't completely his own in that moment, but had that changed anything between you? Had he thought back to that moment, as you had?

Surely not, since you were about to accompany the alienist for the night. Then again, when you had insisted that he took a break, you didn't think he'd want to spend it with you, and yet here you were: stressing over what you should wear to the engagement. You wondered if you were just making a big deal out of nothing. He had said he wanted to make it up to you, and perhaps this was a compromise he'd found acceptable, allowing you both to have a night without worry or stress.

"Foolish." You sighed at your reflection, and the obvious blush that overtook your features, making it clear that it was not simply makeup that gave your cheeks a darkened color. "Absolutely foolish."

It wasn't often that you wore your formal attire, nor did you have an entire day to prepare for the night ahead. The payoff was that you looked far better than usual, a small comfort for your nerves. Was this too much? The question was now an echo in the seemingly endless cave that made up your mind. You shook your head, turning away from the mirror, once again cursing yourself for thinking in such a manner. Regardless, it was far too late now to worry about these little details, as the clock in your home rang out, signalling the time. You'd have to leave soon in order to make it to the theater at a reasonable time.

Every so often, as you began to gather you things for the night, your mind returned back to the investigation. You'd scold yourself. Tonight was a break, you didn't need to think about the horrors you'd seen. Laszlo needed this. Lord knows you needed this. Despite your nervousness, tonight was just a fun outing with a dear friend. And you intended to enjoy it, while you still had the chance.

A knock at your door startled you, as you prepared to leave for the evening. A shadow danced under the crack at the bottom of your door, signalling that there was indeed someone there, and not just your ears plating tricks on you. Cautiously, you reached for the knob. Was someone meant to visit today? No, you wouldn't have forgotten if Sara or the Isaacson twins were meant to come by.

When you opened the door, a man stood there, smiling down at you.

"Oh, hello Cyrus!" You greeted, sighing in relief.

The tall man gave you a nod, a smile playing out over his features. "Ms. (L/n)."

"Why..I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting you, has.. Has something happened?"

Your heart and mind raced together. Had Laszlo changed his mind? No, he wouldn't be so rude as to cancel your plans last minute. Unless there was something important. Had another body been found?

Cyrus chuckled, shaking his head. "No, nothing of the sort. Dr. Kreizler just asked if Stevie and I could take you to the opera."

"Oh." It's all you could say, as you fought back another flush from your face.

"You look lovely tonight, Ms. (L/n)." Cyrus said, comfortingly, before turning his head back to the street. 

There, Laszlo's young ward, Stevie, sat at the driver's seat of the carriage, clearly itching to leave, so that he might race through the streets. You smiled, unable to hold back your joy.

"Thank you, Cyrus."

You had already gathered your belongings for the evening, not that there was really much you could bring, only a small bag attached to your wrist. You stepped out of your home, pausing only to lock the door behind you. You hurried down the front steps to the sidewalk, where you were promptly let into the empty carriage. Once inside and settled, you beamed, unable to contain yourself. You reasoned that your unexpected escort was probably due to concerns for your safety at this time of night, and nothing more. Still, a certain lightness in your chest emerged, bubbling up inside you, causing you to beam as you looked out the side window. 

You heard Stevie cheer out, and suddenly the vehicle pulled forwards. After a moment, you felt the wheel hit a large bump. You laughed after a second of surprise. Maybe your ride wouldn't be as calm as Doctor Kreizler had expected, but you couldn't find it within you to care.

When you finally made it to the theater, you had arrived a bit earlier than you expected. Not that you should be surprised, given how Stevie raced you through the city. On the carriage had stopped, Cyrus opened the door and bid you farewell. You watched the boy-driven carriage disappear into the night, before turning to face the opera house. The building was a towering structure, with large marble beams that made up the entrance. The warm, yellow light from the inside called to you, ushering you to join the fun. Given that Cyrus hadn't told you when Laszlo would arrive, you assumed he was waiting there for you. Picking up the skirt of your dress, you began your climb up the stairs, a slight urgency in your step.

You had found him a few minutes later, standing by the large stair case that lead to the upper level seats of the theater. Before he had seen you, you took a moment to admire his form. You had seen him in his formal suit before, a simple black suit with a white bow tie, but you always had to stop and admire the expensive outfit. He also had his cane with him, the one with the bird handle that you had once said you liked before. The one detail you thought was odd was the fact that he held the item with his right hand, as opposed to his left. Due to the weakness in the arm, he usually kept it close to his side in order to keep from hurting himself. It was only until he pulled a pocket watch from his vest with his dominant arm that you understood the change.

You walked towards him, until your approaching figure finally drew his attention. With a shy smile, she greeted the man. "I hope I'm not too late."

He shook his head, giving you a warm look. "Right on time."

He seemed rested now, compared to earlier, no longer wearing the dark circles that had plagued him for the last couple of days. You felt happy, knowing that he must have taken a break from the day as well.

"I apologize for sending Cyrus and Stevie to you without warning, I thought it'd be best if you didn't travel alone." He explained, before quickly looking over you. "You look beautiful tonight, (Y/n)."

"Thank you, Laszlo." You replied, blushing, while clasping your hands together nervously. "Though, you didn't have to go through all the trouble."

"It was no trouble at all. Stevie, in particular, seemed more than willing."

When the crowd of people began to move into the auditorium, you joined Laszlo as he led you up the stairs, towards the direction of the private box seats. You were a bit surprised to see this, given that he had gotten the tickets on such short notice. As you entered the box, you each took a seat next to each other, with you seated in your usual spot on his left. The opera you were watching was Aida, a story about an Ethiopian princess of the same name who was held captive in Egypt, and fell in love with an Egyptian general, Radames, and he with her, despite being promised to the Egyptian princess. As the show began, Laszlo quickly explained to you that the opera had been made by Antonio Ghislanzoni and Giuseppe Verdi, and had premiered December 24th, 1871. You chuckled, mostly to yourself, as you knew he'd be listing off little facts like this throughout the night.

As the show went on, you slowly realized a running theme in the show, in relating to it's star characters. Love & Hate. You found it a bit ironic, given the circumstances. In the first act, Aida, the main character, loves her country deeply but has hate for the Egyptians who have taken her and her people captive. Including Radames, as he continues to fight against her country. Time passes in the story, and the two begin to fall for one another. You were impressed with how the performer playing Aida was able to portray the conflicting emotions of the character- with her love for her country and her love for Radames, as she begins to fall for the Egyptian general. 

One of the reasons that made Laszlo's company so enjoyable was his ability to talk during a show, without taking away or distracting you from the experience. Often times, he'd speak quietly, leaning slightly for you to hear him over the music. He'd go on to tell you the historical origins that the opera was based on, and you had a feeling he had studied the opera before coming here. It seemed nearly impossible for him to know so much, if that were not the case. However, once the music began and each new song was sung, Laszlo's words would fall silent as all his focus was placed on the stage. Occasionally, his hand would twitch in the edge of you vision, pulling away your focus to the watch as his fingers shot up and down in the air, as though he were trying to play something.

Act Two played out similarly to the first, but showed how Radames fights with his own loyalties. By the end, the Egyptian general asked for the Pharaoh to release Aida and her people, but the Pharaoh would only accept if the general agrees to marry his daughter. Once the woman on stage stopped singing, the curtains closed and lights flickered back on. Already, some of the crowd had begun to leave the auditorium, in order to socialize with the other members of New York's society.

The two of you join them, going out into the crowded halls and lobby in order to celebrate your evening. Drinking champagne, you exclaimed your love for the story so far, as well as the performer's work. Laszlo agreed, complimenting the orchestra as well, before listening to your thoughts on the characters, occasionally interjecting how it's history was exaggerated for the sake of entertainment. Truly, you felt content in this moment, sharing your same passions with the alienist, while being able to give each other new thoughts and opinions. 

You were both finishing up your drinks, when your name had been called from some far off part of the room. Turning, you were shocked to see none other than Louis Arnett for the second time today. The man came over to you, dressed to the nines.

"Mr. Arnett, what a surprise to see you." You greeted, politely. "I thought I recalled you saying you weren't fond of the opera?"

"I've been known to come on the rare occasion." He replied. "It's a pleasure to see you, my dear. Lovely, as always. I also seem to recall the fact that I said you could call me Louis."

Kindly, you shook your head in denial. "I apologize, Mr. Arnett, but I highly doubt that'd be appropriate."

Before, you may have brushed off the endearments, but now they were beginning to irritate you. Especially with Laszlo present. Turning your head, you looked at Laszlo, who's warm smile had returned to his usual subdued expression.

"Mr. Arnett, I must introduce you to Dr. Kreizler!" You said, steering the conversation away from you. Laszlo gave you a confused expression, before you quickly explained: "Mr. Arnett was kind enough to open his home to me for such a low price, when I first moved here. He'll stop by on occasion."

Laszlo smiled, giving Arnett a nod, before placing his cane back into his right hand. With his left, he shook your landlord's hand, introducing himself.

"Ah, the alienist." Arnett hummed. "Tell me, Kreizler, do you always take your assistants with you to the opera? One might think you're trying to keep (Y/n) all to yourself!"

"Mr. Arnett, please." You hissed out, appalled.

Arnett chuckled, but you found nothing about his words humorous. Not only were they rude, given the circumstance, but the implication alone was entirely inappropriate. You also despised how he had spoken as if you weren't right there in front of him. Laszlo was clearly uncomfortable with the man's words, but tried his best to hide it.

The alienist merely sighed. "While it's true, Ms. (L/n) does work with me, It's been a pleasure to enjoy her company. Though she does assist me with my work at the Institute, I'm honored to consider her a close colleague and friend."

The last word was barely more than a small whisper, yet Arnett seemed to catch it. The older man nodded in understanding, before looking to you.

"I understand entirely. I don't blame you for wanting to spend more time with her, especially way from those horrible murders."

You blushed, stiffening slightly at the mentioned case. "Mr. Arnett, I'm afraid the purpose of our outing was to get away from the investigation. I'd highly appreciate it if we could enjoy our night in peace."

"Ah," He cleared his throat, embarrassed at your reaction. His hand went up to smooth out his tie, his thumb brushing over the lily pin. "I apologize. Of course you wouldn't wish to speak of it here. " Something in the distance seemed to catch the older man's eye, drawing his attention. "If you'll excuse me, I must be going."

You found yourself stunned at his erratic behavior, as he moved away back into the crowd. Once out of earshot, you let out a heavy sigh, turning to Laszlo with an apologetic look.

"I must apologize for Mr. Arnett. He has a tendency to overstep in conversations. I hope he didn't offend you too greatly."

Kreizler's brown eyes had followed Arnett, before finally looking back to you. While his smile hadn't returned, the warm look he gave you had. "John has, on occasion, accused me of doing the same. I suppose its only right that I should have to experience the same hardships I deal to others."

With that, the crowd was then directed back into the auditorium, as intermission drew to a close. To your surprise, Laszlo had offered you his arm, as you both returned to the private section. As the curtains rose and the next act began, you found yourself thinking about Mr. Arnett's strange behavior and how he'd spoken with Laszlo. You could understand if the man didn't like the alienist, given that Dr. Kreizler didn't have the best reputation among most of New York. Still, you weren't prepared for how casually he had disrespected him and spoke about you as though you were merely there to entertain them. Your chest felt warm, as you recalled how kindly Laszlo had spoken about you, complimenting your company. However, the way his voice has weakened upon calling you a friend had stirred all your anxieties back to the surface.

As the first song began, you looked to Laszlo, admiring him as he watched the show. Did he truly see you as a friend? Or was his hesitation an indicator of something more?

The third act began, with the story immediately picking up where it left off. Aida and her lover, Radames, perform in a song, where the characters are lamenting their forbidden and doomed romance. Once the song ends, Aida then began to plead with the gods, praying that they take pity on her people and the two lovers. In such dark times, as the one you live in now, you felt as though you would've done the same, had you believed in such a God. 

With the song at an end, you had expected Laszlo to then make another small comment about the show. However, when his gaze remained focused on the stage, you found yourself a little disappointed. It wasn't until you felt a warm brush against your hand, that your attention switched. It was brief, just for a moment, but Laszlo's left hand had touched yours, yet his eyes remained in place. Somehow, it seemed as though he hadn't noticed. Or if he had, he didn't mind. You blinked, clearing your throat silently, before looking back to the stage. The next song began, and followed the story with interest, wondering what would come of the two main characters, and the enslaved people of Ethiopia. 

Once again, you felt his hand against your own. There was no doubt now. Without moving you head, your eyes went back to his hand, a finger draped over your own. Slowly, you moved your hand into his, your palm covering over his own. Your heart raced, and the room felt significantly warmer. You began to doubt yourself, cursing whatever god there was for your foolish actions. But it all stopped, as his fingers wrapped into your own. You felt your breath hitch, but fell into a comfortable silence, watching the opera with a racing heart. As the song came to an end, you weren't sure if you welcomed it's conclusion or mourned it.

Laszlo turned, facing you. Even with the dim lights of the theater, you could make out the pink color of his cheeks and neck, as he continued to stare at you. His eyes held the same intensity as the day before, but that vacant expression was gone, replaced with something much softer. A binding energy trapped you in place, unable to look away. Even as the music began, signalling the next song, the doctor did not break his stare. Instead, his gaze slowly traced over you, a soft caress.

It wasn't until the music softened, transitioning from a loud crescendo to a soft steady melody, that you heard him whisper your name, as if asking something. You responded with his own.

You didn’t know who let go of the other’s hand, but it didn’t matter. Kreizler’s hand slowly reached up to you, the back of his fingers brushing over your cheek, as he pushed back a small section of your hair behind your ear, before finding it's destination against your jaw. He was hesitant to lean into you, not wishing to overstep your boundaries. It until you matched his actions, did the space between you disappear.

It was a small, innocent kiss. Even as you broke away, you felt the soft gentle buzzing on your lips. Your noses brushing, you looked up at him, staring into those brown eyes you've grown to love. You only broke the stare to lean in again, chasing the feeling of his lips on your own once more. You hardly cared where you were at the moment, as you lifted a hand to place over his own. You kissed him gently, not wanting to ruin this moment, as you lightly parted your lips for him. The hand on your jaw fell, finding it's place back against your neck, making you gasp. He seemed to grow more bold, matching your desperate enthusiasm. His fingers then dug down, not harshly but just enough to add pressure. The sensation was enough to send a sudden jolt of heat through you, making a small instinctive whine fall from you.

Suddenly, he broke away from you, a strange glint in his eye. As you caught your breath, you couldn't quite tell if his expression was one of excitement or fear. Before you could even ask what was wrong, the doctor got up from his seat, moving to leave the small theater box, not even stopping to take his walking cane. The light happiness in your chest died as quickly as it was born, and all that was left was the sinking feeling of fear and confusion. You then followed, doing the same, as the same nagging question played over in your mind. Had you done something wrong?

Tears threatened to form, but you fought to keep them down. At least until you had an explanation for Laszlo's actions. You found him just outside, in the empty halls of the theater. As you approached, he looked back at you, a troubled expression on his face. Your heart broke at the sight.

"Laszlo, I.. If I've done something wrong I sincerely apologize. I.. I'm sorry-"

Cutting me off, his head shot up, as if stunned. "You've done nothing of the sort!"

"Then why are you troubled?" You stepped forwards, searching for answer. "If I am not at fault, then you must tell me what it is I have done that has made you react in such a way."

"I just...I don't wish to see you get hurt. By being close to me." Laszlo looked conflicted, pausing as he tried to form his thoughts. His eyes looked to the ground, as he sighed. "By me."

The phantom hold on your neck returned, as you noticed the look of fear in his eyes. This man, who has trouble follow him wherever he goes, seemed haunted by something. You bit your lip.

"I've already forgiven you for you previous actions, as I know they were not entirely your own in that moment." You took a deep breath in order to keep your voice from failing you. "And even if they were, I trust you enough to know that you'd never hurt me, Laszlo."

"And if I wanted to?" He spat it out, quickly. Though the words didn't seem directed towards you, rather.. himself.

You blinked, a blush rushing to your face once more, as you were taken aback. Gathering yourself, you reached for his hand once more, silently. Lifting it gently, you gave a soft squeeze, a comforting gesture. His eyes met your own again.

"I'll trust you even then." You replied, feeling genuine in your response.

His lips parted slightly, his eyes widening as he looked down at you. He squeezed you hand, holding it in a grasp that was almost tight. A warning. Yet you stayed right there, watching as his eyes fell to your lips.

He pulled you forward, against him, as his lips met your own again. Unlike before, this wasn't so sweet and gentle as it had once been. No, now that underlying desperation, that need, broke to the surface as his teeth pulled on the soft subtle skin on your mouth, almost forcing you to open your lips for him, hadn't you not already been willing to. His weaker right arm found a place against your waist, as his left found the back of your neck, a strong hold keeping you there.

You gasped in surprise at the sudden forwardness of the typically reserved man. Your hands fell against his suit, finding a hold on the vest beneath his suit jacket. One of your hand slowly traced a path, running against the hairs behind his ear, as you gently pulled against them. The action sent a groan from Laszlo's throat, an unfamiliar experience for you, as you felt his voice against your skin. And Oh, how you craved more, smiling at how you had earned such a reaction. In response, you felt a quick nip at your bottom lip, a small jolt of pain coming from it, before his tongue ran along the same area. At the same time, the hand around your neck squeezed down. A thrilling chill passed through your entire being, finding it's destination just below your stomach. His lips changed direction, trailing a path from your lips to your jawline. You moaned, quietly, just enough for the alienist to hear.

"Laszlo."

Lust wasn't a look you were a stranger to, but seeing it overtake every aspect of Laszlo's appearance as he looked down at you definitely was. And you had no doubts that you looked the same. He pulled away from his advances, hesitating for a moment, blinking away the haze in his eyes. You leaned up, pressing a kiss against his cheek, as his left hand came down to your waist. As you silently stared at each other, you heard the volume of the opera's music return, reminding you of your surroundings. As much as you wished to continue, you knew you couldn't. Fortunately, it seemed Laszlo had come to the same conclusion, leaning back as he smiled again.

"It would be best if we return, before we are found in such a state..." He sighed, almost sadly.

He was right of course. If anyone had gone out into the halls at that moment, the mere sight of your disheveled states would be enough to cause a scandal, something neither of you wanted for the other. You looked away, nodding in agreement as you blushed, bashfully. As if you hadn't just clung to him, wishing that he'd continue. You returned to your seats, the two of you smooth out your clothes, erasing as much evidence to your actions as you could. Once you returned, Laszlo once again placed his hand against yours, drawing gentle circles against the back of your hand throughout the rest of the show. Permanent smile crept to your face.

The opera ended, with Aida and Radames dying in each other's arms. A tragic love story, doomed to fail from the start. But then again, did it truly fail? After all, Aida's people had escaped captivity and she had found her last moments with the man she loved. Perhaps if you hadn't missed part of the story you would've come to a suitable answer. You didn't regret missing it though, finding comfort in a far more enjoyable feeling in whatever it was that was between you and the alienist by your side.

You left the theater, with your arm wrapped around his own, sharing electric glances and soft touches. Once outside, you saw the familiar faces of Stevie and Cyrus, who apparently had been waiting to escort you back. Laszlo lead you to the carriage, opening the door for you. He took your hand, helping you step into the vehicle, before quickly joining you inside. Once settled, you met his gaze once more.

He smiled, warmly. "I hope you enjoyed yourself tonight. John has told me that the opera can be rather dull, at times.."

You blinked, bewildered. Surely, he was joking. You couldn't help but laugh, as you gave him a strange stare. "You're the alienist, Dr. Kreizler. What would you believe?"

Laszlo chuckled in response, taking your joke as a good sign. Lifting his cane, he tapped the roof of the carriage twice, signalling Stevie to start our journey. Your ride home had been much calmer than earlier, and you enjoyed the comfortable silence that fell over the two of you. However, as you neared your home, you sensed that Laszlo had something to say. 

"I'm sorry if my reaction startled you, that hadn't been my intention. The troubled minds of other have always been something that intrigued me, yet when faced with it myself, I find myself at a loss." He said quietly. "I meant it when I said you could get hurt, being close to me. Someone I held dear was taken from me, and I still fear that the same fate may reach you, the way it did her..."

He spoke as though a ghost hovered over his shoulder, a new level of vulnerability you'd never seen before. You realized that perhaps this is what John meant when he said Laszlo had been hurt the most by the last investigation. 

"I understand," You looked up, reading his expression as you spoke. "But you shouldn't blame yourself for the past. If you truly cared for her and could have changed whatever happened, I know you would have. You cannot punish yourself for something you could not control. If you worry for me, for whatever may come, I know you will work to keep the same from happening."

Laszlo stared at you, a sad smile playing over his face, as he mulled over your words. Once more the silence fell over you. It was only a few minutes more, when you reached your home.

As you glanced out the window, you paused. "Thank you, Laszlo. I had a lovely time, enjoying your company."

"Perhaps we should go to the opera again?" He suggested, hopeful.

"I.." You blushed for what felt like the hundredth time at this point. "I didn't wish to assume."

"Never, kedvesem." He replied, speaking a Hungarian word you hadn't learned yet. But it didn't take much to know that it was an endearment of some sort. "Though, perhaps we should save Delmonico's for the next trip to the opera."

You heart leapt at the notion, sending a rush through you. You gave your farewell, before stepping out of the carriage. Quickly, you did the same for Stevie and Cyrus, once again thanking them for their services for the night. As you watched the carriage disappear into the night, you felt as though you could die from happiness. Stepping into your home, the door being left unlocked, you gave a sigh of relief. The night had been a success and so much more.

You dragged yourself into your private room, tired after the long night.

 And in your distracted state, you hardly noticed the small bouquet of roses on your pillow.

[furblrwurblr]

Moppet!Douxie x GN!Reader, Soulmate AU | Hurt/Comfort, Fluff

Warnings: Fire/Explosion, lots of crying, self esteem issues, misunderstandings cause a lot of emotional turmoil

Note: This is my first fic! I know fics have it worse than art, but if you'd consider leaving tips in the comments, I'd be super grateful! Thanks for taking a look!

It was springtime in Camelot, near the turn of the season. The sun was high, the birds were singing, and you... were late. As a magic user, your life was in constant jeopardy regardless of your employment as the Crowmaster, Crowlord Corbin’s apprentice, penning and sending letters for the kingdom. And in this kingdom, tardiness was not appreciated. Racing through the castle halls with the king’s letters in hand, you noticed movement on your forearms.

“I wonder what color their eyes are. I bet they’re lovely.”

Your lips curled in a tender smile at the curling words that appeared on your skin. Similar musings crossed your soulmate’s mind daily, not leaving your body free of the enigmatic “ink” for years.

No one, not even the renowned Merlin Ambrosius, knew the precise nature of the words that would mark people’s skin, only that they were your soulmate’s thoughts about you. Soulmates were a fickle thing, their connections varying with different cultural beliefs and changing as countries developed. In England, the written words made finding your soulmate a tad difficult as one couldn’t know if their other half was paying any mind when they tried to share personal details. It was said that once you know them wholly, you’re complete in all things. Whatever that means.

You’d once been impatient to meet your own, to know what it means to be complete, but after years of black markings coming and going, covering your body in kind words of admiration, you deemed them worth the wait.

You were shocked from your reverie in a flutter of parchment. You’d bumped into someone, the king’s letters falling to the ground right into… was that slorr juice? You didn’t even apologize to the raven-haired young man whose spell material you’d just gotten all over the floor. You were far too panicked.  Knowing your animal magic was of no help here, you scrambled to salvage what you could.

Hisirdoux was in trouble. Merlin would have his head when he told him he lost the slorr juice to another bout of soulmate pondering, and have it again when he discovered that said juice is the reason the king didn’t receive his news regarding the upcoming royal summit. Douxie leaned forward to help but instead opted to frantically search his brace for anything that could help the poor apprentice in front of him.

When he’d finally found the rune, the Crowmaster had just finished shaking off what liquid they could from the sensitive documents. He quickly dried them hoping to save the ink on them as best he could, long fingers flitting over each. In a hurried frenzy of apologies and farewells, the hallway was emptied.

Merlin was less than pleased, and frankly, a little concerned. Douxie usually gets so cautious after a mistake that even Merlin feels his stress, but this was the third time this week. Why was he so focused on his soulmate? After a right scolding, Douxie retired to his room to study. Merlin nearly did a double-take at what was written on his young apprentice’s neck.

“He was quite kind.”

So they’d met. Did his soulmate know? Did Douxie know?

Over the next few weeks, you two kept running into one another. A passing here, an acknowledgment there. After about a month you’d come to look forward to seeing the boy trip over himself en route to Merlin’s study. You helped him carry supplies when the Crowlord was away and talked when he dropped off Merlin’s letters to the court magicians across England. For some reason, you found yourself hanging on his every word and smiling whenever you caught a glimpse of his adorable manbun weaving through the streets.

He felt the same. It was never enough to speak to you in passing and he even left long conversations with you feeling wanting. He doesn’t quite remember how he started, but it’d become a habit to watch you work through the large western tower window. He’d admire your tenderness with the crows and was warmed by your bond with your hawk familiar. 

As you left the tower to retire for the night, he always thought you might be cold, but never gathered the courage to walk you to your chambers.

Douxie was concerned. The day was halfway through, winter clouds covering the high sun, and you were nowhere to be seen. He’d watched you enter the western tower at dawn and the candlelight hadn’t been extinguished once. He was principally done with Merlin’s tasks for the day, perhaps he could pop his head in? “just for a minute,” he decided. 

He exited his chambers (Merlin’s storage closet) and rapped a knuckle on his master’s desk, pulling his attention from some blueprints. Merlin didn’t speak, just gave an expectant look.

Douxie ran a near-trembling hand through his tied black hair before cautiously speaking up. “Master, may I have the rest of the day off?”

“Whatever brought this on? After the way you’ve been acting these past months?”

Douxie averted his gaze, suddenly finding his shoes far more interesting. “I’d… I’d like to see someone today.”

After a beat, the master wizard quickly scribbled something down on a piece of parchment and handed it to the boy.

“Finish these and I’ll consider your time served for the day,” Merlin sighed.

Douxie had been sure he would shut down. He quickly snatched the list and ran to the door, uttering a rushed ‘thank you master’ before it shut behind him. Merlin watched him leave, fondness in his eyes.

The sun was just dipping past the high kingdom walls, turning the town a vibrant orange. Douxie hung the herbs he’d just gathered, heaving a sigh of great relief when the last one was in place. He raced across the west side, eager to visit his… friend? Is that who you were to him? He banished the thought as he came upon the west tower, dark eyebrows shooting up in surprise. Citizens, a lot of them, stood in a line from the tower out down the hallway. 

“What’s going on?” he asked a young woman.

“I’m here with my children, the Crowmaster is penning wishlists for Saint Nick. Just a shilling each!” 

Douxie nodded and thanked her, then made his way to the tower. He gently pushed past the mob gathered in the doorway, stammering apologies. At last, he reached the Crowlord’s desk. The man himself was nowhere to be seen and you were alone, writing away at the whim of an excited child. He caught a glimpse of your face, you looked tired. Had you really been doing this all day?

Exhausted wasn’t a big enough word to describe how you felt. The only thing keeping you going was reading the various forms of concern written on your skin. By now, you knew you’d met them, but you couldn’t place who it could be. However, thinking was only making you more fatigued as your aching wrist swept across the parchment.

Douxie said nothing, just pulled out the Crowlord’s chair, and sat down. You looked at him, eyes wide, but the only explanation offered was a kind smile. He picked up a quill and called out for the next person to step forward. You turned back to the young girl asking for a sword, your smile wide and heart swelling.

By the time you two finished, the sun was half past the horizon. The last patron left the tower and you both heaved a sigh of relief.

“I can’t than-” 

“Um, do you think-” 

You looked at one another and laughed, waiting for the other to speak. Douxie hesitated, then took a deep breath. 

“Uhm, do you think you’ve some time? I’d like to show you something,” he asked, lifting his eyes to your face.

“Sure,” you replied, smiling and holding out your elbow.

He beamed, quickly grabbing two pieces of parchment, a quill, and an inkwell. You raised a brow but let him be as he threaded your arm through his and started walking.

The young wizard’s apprentice couldn’t bring himself to speak, he was far too nervous. Thankfully, you found the silence comfortable as he led you up a winding staircase at the corner of the castle. Once you both reached the top, he gestured to the sea. It was breathtaking. The salty breeze floated through your hair as you admired the sun’s glow over the water and the colors of twilight.

Douxie broke the quiet. “I thought you’d like this. Hmm, it isn’t enough light to write by though.” He waved his hand, sending blue wisps to swirl around you both. You watched them float about, eyes finally landing on Douxie who was making himself comfortable in a crenel, placing the supplies he’d brought with him on the merlon in front of him. You settled across from him, reaching for the quill.

His slender hand caught yours and laid in on the stone, gently massaging your wrist. “You’ll injure yourself at this rate. Let someone else write for you today.” His gaze caught yours, hazel eyes full of concern, and… something else you couldn’t place.

A gentle smile spread across your face as you reveled in the sun on your skin and the breeze on your lips. Douxie shuffled his papers around and spoke up again a moment later.

“So! What’s your wish?” Douxie asked, smiling wide.

“What?” you said, puzzled.

Douxie rose a brow, pointing out “All today, has anyone penned you a wishlist?”

“I suppose not,” you said, the smile settling back onto your face.

He beamed and set the quill to the parchment again. “Fantastic. Not that I think it’s fantastic no one’s offered, I’m just glad I get to- oh, I never even asked. I should have asked first, I’m so sorry-,” His shoulders tensed, but he stopped abruptly when he felt your hand on his.

“Hisirdoux, thank you. I’d love it if you did, there’s no need to worry.”

You started telling him things you wanted for Christmas and conversation flowed from there. Teasing banter and loud laughter filled the sky as it turned to night, blue magic floating around you both excitedly in time with your synchronized heartbeats as he finally walked you to your chambers, even offering you his hood. What could he do? He thought you looked cold.

It was just past noon on Christmas day. The ground sparkled a bright white and children’s laughter rang through the air. You took a deep breath of the crisp air and let it out in a contented sigh, taking a sip of the warm cider your master bought you before he left to celebrate with his family. He invited you to join them, but you opted to celebrate it yourself. You placed the cider on the table next to the window you were sitting in and picked up the small wood block you were fashioning into a present for Douxie. The small wooden cat-dragon only needed his hind leg to be freed from its timber prison. It wasn’t perfect, but it’s the thought that counts. As you worked, sentences curled up your arms and swirling letters kissed the base of your fingers. You paused your whittling with a frown. The only feeling behind this gift was love. You’d accepted you loved Douxie after that night bathed in twilight and lonely smiles, but you felt so incredibly twisted about it. You’d already met your soulmate and they thought about you often. Did your soulmate also worry they’d fallen in love with the wrong person? You shook your head, clearing your mind at the sound of wingbeats. Your hawk familiar landed on your raised knee and began to preen themself, looking at you smugly through pristine feathers.

“I can feel you overthinking things from across the castle,” they spoke, masking concern under teasing.

You scoffed, knowing they were right. “What am I meant to do? I can’t go on like this when I’ve got a soulmate out there. I can’t even try, it’s against the law! They know we’re bonded, what if they see me with him? I don’t want to hurt them like that. Not to mention, what if he’s not perfect for me? I want the soulbond to experience all of another person, but should I give that up for love?”

Your familiar shook their head and flew away, leaving you with your question hanging in the air. Watching them leave, you noticed someone walking towards the slorr’s stable. The manbun was too recognizable for there to be a shred of doubt: Douxie was being put to work on Christmas Day. You turned the wooden Archie in your hand and pushed off the windowsill. Just because you love him doesn’t mean you can’t stay friends.

Douxie was in flux. Archie saw the boy’s neutral expression turn sour as he read what he could of his soulmate’s thoughts. They loved someone else? Would they give him up for someone they’d already met? He couldn’t exactly criticize, he was in the same boat. Y/N was so important to him, but if he found his soulmate, could he quell the confusing little thing they had together for someone he barely knew? He decided he’d understand if his soulmate didn’t love him, he’d want them to do the same. He loved Y/N too much to let them go.

He looked up from his arm and startled. You were waiting for him, leaning against the slorr’s gate, your hawk familiar preening themself. While you laughed at his absentmindedness, he frantically rolled his ¾ sleeves down over the words that betrayed his true heart. 

“Y-Y/N! W-what are you doing here? Aren’t you- um, aren’t you meant to be celebrating?” Douxie stammered out as his heart rate slowed. 

You pushed off the gate and grabbed the pail he was holding in his hands that were still light with adrenaline. “I am! I opted not to celebrate with Master Corbin and his family, take the day for myself and see where it leads,” you said, a hopeful grin rising to your lips.

Douxie broke into a giddy smile, his heart afloat. They had all of Christmas to enjoy the town and they were here with him? He couldn’t believe his fortune. “Then I’m glad it led you here!” he exclaimed. 

Archie curled himself around your leg, butting his dark head into your calf. “Are you here to enjoy the show?” he asked with a purr. 

Your laugh was the only thing keeping Douxie from strangling his bespectacled familiar, so he settled for a pout you internally cooed at. 

Both of you paused in front of the gate, reluctant to enter. He swung it open with a bow. “Ladies first.”

“Cheeky,” you said to him over your shoulder.

Archie and your familiar started playing with one another as you two prepared to take on the slorr together.

Hm. This was a mess. The slorr seemed to enjoy the happy atmosphere you’d both created so she was a tad more cooperative, but it took longer for her to calm down. You and Douxie were covered head to toe in the glowing blue liquid, trying to remove what you could into the pail Merlin gave him. Your shared laughter slowed to silence as you noticed him staring at you, eyes slowly roving over your face. Did he look… sad? No, that wasn’t it. Before you could scrutinize him further, you felt it. Gentle fingers caressing your cheek, going up, up… Your breath hitched as he laid his palm to your cheek, thumb slowly moving across your face. You let out a shaky breath and he jolted, noticing your wide eyes fixed on his and quickly withdrawing his hand.

He shook some juice from his hand and gesticulated wildly, stammering through an apology. “You- you had some juice on your cheek, I’m so sorry, Merlin’s tower, I shouldn’t have done that-”

“It’s okay, really. Thanks for getting it for me,” you interrupted. You wanted to say more, but his sleeve had risen in his fervor, swirling lines reminding you he wasn’t yours to comfort. Hisirdoux was such an emotional and empathetic being, he wouldn’t leave his soulmate. Especially since his soulmate would have to be an absolute saint, it’s no less than he deserved. Taking a deep breath in, you looked back at him. “Don’t bite your lips, you’ll chap them. Was that your last task for the day?”

Douxie released his lip, fighting the urge to continue chewing it. “It was, and I’ve no clue how I’m going to use the rest of the afternoon,” he said, watching as his familiar and yours playfully wrestled for a mouse.

Your heart leaped, this was your chance! “How would you like to spend it together? There are tons of things to do in town and I’ve saved up my pay for a while so I’ve some wiggle room. Not to mention, I’ve made you something.”

The nervous cloud around you both dissolved as Douxie eagerly agreed and begged you to reveal what you had for him. You denied him with a laugh, smile widening with his every impatient groan. Your familiars ran ahead of you both, swirling in a frenzy of playful fighting and laughter as you walked out of the castle, arm-in-arm.

The town was a sight to behold. Holly curled around door frames, red berries nestled among twisted wreaths. Mistletoe hung from building corners, tracks disrupted the perfect layers of fresh snow, and children weaved and ducked through throngs of people gathered around street musicians. Snowballs were flying at the end of every street, laughter and song floating in the air with the excited chatter of families buying wares for their families, and lines of crushed berries stained the ground. It was an English tradition to wish to meet your soulmate sooner by spreading holly berries in a line on Christmas as a nod to the Chinese legends of the soulstring, a red string that connected soulmates there. Sure, it made a mess of your shoes but you always found it cute.

The first few minutes were unsure, both of you fishing for ideas on what to do first. Archie and your familiar were already deep in conversation, but you and Douxie were struggling. That is, until, the smell of sweet buns reached him. His stomach let out a mighty grumble, a testament to how he’d been working for longer than you and likely hadn’t eaten lunch yet. He covered his pale face with his free hand, too embarrassed to bear seeing you fight a rising smile. You slid your hand down his forearm and grasped his cold fingers, pulling him towards the source of the heavenly aroma. A fiery blush rose to his ears when he registered your fingers lacing with his while you waited in line. Reaching the front, Douxie’s protests fell on deaf ears as you swatted his hands away, insisting you’d pay. The baker gave a soft smile and handed you two of the high coveted baked goods, bidding you both a happy Christmas. Just two apprentices walking hand in hand, browsing stalls, eating together, and enjoying one another's company.

Douxie heard something on the wind and perked up. Lively music came from the town square and Douxie wasn’t about to miss the chance to dance with you. He pulled you from the daggers you were eyeing, making a note of which you lingered on before pulling you close and weaving through the other partygoers. Soon enough, you made it to the musicians, seeing the space before them where a group was dispersing as the song ended. The vocalist started up again, solo for a few lines until the band swelled. Douxie bounced on his heels, recognizing the tune as The Bear and the Maiden Fair. His excitement sent a wave of courage through him and he slipped his fingers from yours, instead grabbing you by the wrist to drag you to the open space.  Others joined, forming a circle. Claps and stomps interrupted the smooth movement of the ring. Laughter mixed with the joyful notes of the flute. Hisirdoux couldn’t stop looking at your joined hands, sometimes lifting his gaze to your eyes closed in a laugh. When the vocalist reached the line “lifted her high into the air”, Douxie broke his hand away from the person opposite you, lifted you by the waist, and spun. Your clothes fluttered and for a moment, you were weightless. Douxie’s laughter rang in your ears, lingering just like the feeling of his fingers intertwined with yours. His hands were warm and firm on your midsection, the heat replaced with a chill as he set you down. You absently continued the dance, happiness clouding the passage of time. Douxie kept your hand in his, allowing your arms to fall to your sides. You looked at each other, breathless smiles lingering on your faces as the song changed once more. You both walked on, catching your breath and coming down from the high.

A few hours later, you’d both had more interaction with each other than you’d had with anyone else all year. It was a welcome break from the same hallways, the same people, and the same routines. You’d bought each other dinner, talked about everything under the sun, and danced through seemingly all of Camelot, only separating for maybe an hour to buy gifts that may or may not have been for one another.

The day was coming to a close, the sun once again a deep vermillion, the snow reflecting it like gems. As you were heading back to the castle, you passed a holly berry stall. Douxie saw you looking at it, sobered by the reminder you were both promised to complete strangers. Just today, he’d fallen so much more in love with you than he thought possible, and if you wanted your soulmate, who was he to deny you? He tugged on your arm, wordlessly offering a pound to the vendor. The woman raised a brow at your intertwined fingers but offered the small basket of berries without a question. You looked at him quizzically when he drew his hand from yours, pouring a good amount into his hand and giving you the remainder. Enjoying the bittersweet silence, you two took turns placing the berries in a line. Archie swatted your familiar’s eager beak from the line of red that was stark against the slow-melting snow. Once you’d finished, Douxie sent you a sad smile and asked if you’d like to exchange gifts in his chambers. You agreed, once again arm-in-arm, streets quiet except for the soft crunching of snow beneath your heavy feet and the pound of heavy hearts.

Hisirdoux lit all his candles as the sun peeked just over the horizon. Archie made himself comfortable on his wizard’s pillow, curling around a tired hawk familiar. Your own wizard associate preened themselves while you and Doux sat on the bed, eventually opting to preen Archie when they were satisfied. Archie let out a yelp when she preened the edge of his ear, earning a look from you. Douxie pulled out a handful of items from his satchel with a flourish and showed you all the things he’d found one by one. Polish for Lancelot’s sword, a garlic braid for one of Galahad’s more ambitious brews, cooked salmon for Archie, and other things spread out in front of him.

He gave a nervous smile. “Close your eyes,” he breathed.

You smiled as your eyes slid shut. His slim, cold fingers touched your hand, causing goosebumps to rise on your arm as he pressed something small into your palm.

“And… open!” He slid his hands from yours and into his lap, an expectant look on his long face. Looking down, you gasped. There laid a ring that looked to be made of vines, weaving around each other and wrapping around the base of a tiny white flower.

“I found a curltrap in the forest on my last herb run and thought you might like it, so I made it into a ring. It won’t wilt. Um… do you? Like it, I mean,” he asked, brows pinching.

You slipped it on and looked at him in awe. Leaning forward, you softly put your arms around his neck and pulled him into a hug. “Douxie, it’s beautiful. No one’s ever given me such a thoughtful gift, thank you for making it.” He laid his hands on your back and laid his face in the crook of your neck to return the gesture, hand trailing after when you pulled away.

“Your turn!” You reached into your bag and paused. “Close your eyes.”

Douxie pouted but held his hand out after doing as he was told. He felt something hard and contoured, slowly curling his long fingers around it. He opened his eyes and stared at it in awe. It was wood whittled in Archie’s likeness, complete with small green gems for eyes and tiny glasses frames made of wire. His wings were unfurled, his posture inquisitive. Archie looked at it, speechless.

“I wasn’t sure what you’d like so I played it safe. When I told the carpenter it was for you he offered to inlay the gems for free. You’re more appreciated than you think!” you exclaimed with a smile. He whispered a “thank you” as he turned it over in his hands, admiring the details. In all honesty, he’d already committed every dip and groove to memory, he was just replaying your words in his mind. “You’re more appreciated than you think!” He never thought about the impact he had on others, he was too busy being concerned with Merlin’s opinion of him. That’d be something he’d have to work on if it made you smile like that.

The rest of the evening flew by, laughter and the sound of a lute seeping through Douxie’s chamber door and into Merlin’s study. By now you’d fallen asleep on his bed having drifted off while Douxie softly sang a folk lullaby you’d requested. He lifted the blanket over you and laid down, the blanket layered between you two. He stared at you while you slept, soaking you in. The shadows your eyelashes cast on your cheeks. Your chest rising and falling in tandem with his. The black lines swirling to your collarbone- wait. Douxie watched as a thought appeared on your skin, hidden under your shirt. Archie moved in circles at the foot of the bed and stopped abruptly feeling Douxie’s sudden fear. He was so tempted to look but he couldn’t risk you hating him… it’s just to see what they think of you. To see if they deserve you. Yeah, that was a viable excuse. Archie hissed quietly at his friend, watching Douxie’s trembling fingers gingerly expose the skin towards your shoulder. He looked at the two words, puzzled. “They’re breathtaking.” Did they see you in the square? Had it been when you’d separated? Douxie was torn from his own thoughts when you made a noise, your brow furrowing for a moment and relaxing. His hand still had your collarbone exposed, and he watched in equal parts elation and horror as his own thought scrawled itself onto your skin.

“I don’t know if I can let you go.”

His blood ran cold, breath hitching and mind flailing. 

You were his. You were fated to be his. But you loved someone else.

Spring had returned to Camelot, plants thriving in the sun’s warmth. The flowers were happy, fluttering in the sea breeze. You furrowed your brow when your heart clenched at the thought of such beautiful blossoms mocking you. A shadow passed over your face as you looked to the flower that still curled itself around your finger. It’d been three months since the best Christmas you’d ever had, but the memory was now stained. Douxie and you still talked, but for some reason, he made excuses to avoid you and felt distant when you were able to cajole him into a short walk. At first, it seemed like he was busy with the amulet, but then he was absent even when Merlin said he was stuck and didn’t require his apprentice’s help. You were disappointed and confused, feeling hurt every time he blew you off with some excuse of running errands for Merlin.

Hisirdoux wasn’t feeling any better. He missed you greatly and seeing what you thought of his excuses only deepened his guilt. But wasn’t this what you wanted? Why would you be so disappointed he wouldn’t spend as much time with you if you loved someone else? He chalked it up to the soulmate bond, ignoring Archie’s concern and attempts at advice. His eyes were sunken in and puffy, due in part to crying himself to sleep watching your pain at his sudden distance write itself on his skin. He’d go to bed with swirling lines of magical ink torturing his dreams and awake a blank slate, ready for it to start all over again. 

Archie couldn’t take this. For the past week, he’d been pushing his magic through their psychic bond, pouring parts of a sleep spell into his charge, but that would only work for so long. Douxie was destroying himself from the inside out, all because he couldn’t be selfish for once and speak up. The shifter waited for Douxie to leave for the day, telling him he’d find him at noon. Archie stayed in front of the door until the young man’s voice faded. He sighed, whispering an apology. Douxie wouldn’t want anyone to know, but the boy needed an intervention.

“Merlin? We need to talk.”

Merlin had noticed Douxie’s exhaustion and had purposefully lightened his load, but the boy kept working regardless. Merlin thought less work could allow him to spend more time with the Crowmaster (who at this point couldn’t be anyone BUT Douxie’s soulmate considering how quickly they bonded and how much time they spent together), but he’d come back to his study to see the books sorted a different way every week, the suits of armor impossibly polished, and the herb rack overflowing with all kinds of magical flora. As Archie relayed the events of the past few months, Merlin felt his chest constrict tighter and tighter. His heart bled for the boy, growing angry at just how oblivious you both were. And then, an idea. Not one of his best or subtlest, but it’d get the job done fast and serve as a bit of punishment for confusing his apprentice’s heart.

It was that time of year again. The yearly royal summit had you and the Crowlord running circles around one another, both of you rapidly penning and sending letters and the occasional need to coerce the grumpiest crow, Corvus, to carry just one more letter for the day. Between your familiar’s regular several-day flights to Spain, your scurrying around the castle, and the magic you were giving the crows for some extra juice, you were exhausted. Your eyes were sunken, you weren’t sleeping properly, and you missed Douxie. You didn’t know why, but his absence made your heart hurt. Every time you collected letters from Merlin, your throat closed at seeing his apprentice’s chamber door. Catching a glimpse of him through doorways and windows made your mouth dry. Both Master Corbin and Galahad had noticed your change in attitude, asking you to rest and why Douxie wasn’t with you, confused why you were no longer attached by the hip. You were tired. Everything fell by the wayside as you rushed from official to official. The king himself was concerned for you. Well, as concerned as he was willing to be towards a mage. 

Finally, there was a lull. You were able to rest for a while but didn’t dare leave the tower, knowing something would pop up eventually. Sitting down for what felt like the first time in weeks, you let everything go. The “mother hen” of the tower crows, Corinth, coaxed it out of you bit by bit until the dam burst. She preened your scalp while you cried, hot tears rolling down your twisted features. The feeling was comforting, helping to ease your upset. Finally, you were able to speak. 

“...I love him, Corinth. I don’t know how I hurt him and I don’t know how to fix it, but I love him. He isn’t mine and he never will be, I know it, I do, so why does it still hurt so much?”  you whimpered, drawing your knees to your chest.

“Perhaps he’s blind,” she said sagely.

“He can see perfectly well,” you whispered with an insincere chuckle, still not trusting your ability to speak without breaking down again.

Her eyes glinted in the noontime sun. “Stupid, then.”

You laughed, eyes crinkling and forcing tears that were left on your lashes to fall. “Douxie may well be stupid, but he isn’t simple. It’s one of his many charms.” A soft smile lingered on your face, heart lighter than before. “Thank you Corinth, you listen well.”

She shook out her plumage and settled on your knees, cuddling into your bosom. You stroked her gently, the silence pushing in on your curled form.

༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓

Poor Hisirdoux was in flux again. He sat on his bed turning the wooden Archie over in his hands. Merlin had left not too long ago and given him the day. Douxie’s hands felt light without a task. Come to think of it, his head felt light too. He couldn’t sleep yet, but he desperately needed a pick-me-up. A sigh escaped him when he realized his basin was nearly empty. He’d wanted something to do so he might as well refill it. Upon picking up the basin he dropped it immediately, water splashing violently across the floor along with the clatter of wood on stone. Archie yowled, shifting into his dragon form. The boy’s eyes were wide in horror as he recalled his reflection in the water. You see, in England, not only are the words of a soulmate tie important, but their placing on the skin holds equal meaning. Douxie had only ever gotten them on his limbs and the base of his skull when he was younger, but ever since he met Y/N, they began showing on his torso and the left side of his chest. But this… this couldn’t mean anything good. Scrawled black lines, no longer smooth and flourished, curled around his throat. They began from seemingly nowhere and writhed downwards in a creeping spiral, the end reaching for his heart. 

“Arch!” he cried. “What’s happening? Why are they like this? What do they say? Arch, Arch, please I need to know what’s wrong!” Tears welled in his hazel eyes as he dragged his hands down his throat, futilely trying to smudge the twisted lines.

Archie felt his fear so strongly his back arched on its own accord, but he found his way to Douxie quickly. He scampered to the boy just as he fell to his knees, his mind nothing but questions. Archie shifted, paws pulling Douxie’s frantic hands into his lap as he curled his wings around the boy’s shoulders. He sniffed and shuddered to a halt, shaky breaths drawing in and out as he lifted his head for Archie to read the swirling text.

Archie’s reaction to your thoughts was well hidden. He knew you two loved each other, but this hurt him just as much as it did Douxie. “...I love him, Corinth. I don’t know how I hurt him and I don’t know how to fix it, but I love him. He isn’t mine and he never will be, I know it, I do, so why does it still hurt so much?” The next bit made him breathe a laugh, but he realized that while it wouldn’t be easy to tell Douxie just how much you were both hurt by each other’s assumptions, it was just the proof he needed. Archie tugged the reluctant apprentice out into Merlin’s study.

Hisirdoux approached the mirror, looking back at Archie before he confronted the letters snaking down his collarbone. He twisted this way and that, heart falling to pieces over and over with every word.

He shifted his hood back into place, fluffing the collar to cast the letters in shadow. One look at Archie’s concerned face was all it took. He sank against the wall, gathering Archie into his arms and burying his face into his familiar’s side. Glistening tears wet Archie’s fur as the cat dragon purred loudly to offer comfort. 

Hisirdoux’s breathing evened out. “Arch, what have I done? What can I do?” he whispered, clutching the familiar ever closer.

Archie placed a large paw on the boy’s chest, near his heart. “You can go after them. Tell them what you know.” 

Douxie nodded after a beat and gathered himself, quickly walking out of Merlin’s tower and towards the western wing of the castle.

༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓

The king and his court mages piled into a carriage in preparation for the trip to the port where they’d depart to Spain for the royal summit. Merlin and Morgana sat next to each other and shared a look when the carriage lurched forward. Of course Merlin enlisted Morgana’s help, she’s a trusted source of chaos. He felt for the Crowlord’s aura in the tower and nodded to her once he confirmed Corbin was away. While Arthur was distracted, they sent their magic out. Tendrils of light bobbed, weaved, and merged to form two fluorescent lime balls. They floated around as if to get their bearings, then flew at the west tower. Nestled just below the ridge leading from the doorway was a sack of Dworkstone, its contents belonging to various trolls imprisoned in the castle dungeons. One ball started to vibrate just before it pushed to the center of the sack, starting the movement needed for a mother of an explosion The other flattened into a shield, curling itself around the sack. And they waited.

༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓

You were still curled on the floor, Corinth in your lap when the crows began to beat their wings against their cages. Corinth was panicked but managed to push what coherent thought she could into your mind.

“The door… danger... hurry…” She struggled, taking off out the window in a flutter of black. 

You felt the disturbance, dread rising in the pit of your stomach. Scrambling to your feet, you barely managed to stand before a loud boom shook the tower. The shield swelled, Trollfire stretching the ward into the room. Your frantic hands undid locks and bonds as quickly as they could, ushering the crows to safety through the large window. The ward began to thin, crackles of green sparks coming undone as the fire fought against Merlin’s magic. You barely managed to throw the last crow out the window before the ward burst into a violent, moving wall of green flames.

You were pushed into the far wall, falling and splitting your brow on the cobblestone. All you could hear was ringing as your vision went white, slowly fading back to normal. You were trapped under the desk and a few chairs, too weak to lift them off. The screech of a hawk sounded far off as your hearing faded in and out. Fire blazed all around you, easily spreading along the hay bedding in the open cages. You coughed, smoke already in the air. Wait. It shouldn’t be this low yet, it’s only been a few moments since the explosion. You quickly sobered into a panic when you realized the wood piled on top of you was burning. Great. Now you were scared and disoriented. A perfect mix for getting out of sticky situations. The only thing to do now was wait.

Douxie could swear he felt his soul leave his body. He was on his way to tell you-- well, everything. You were his everything. He felt it before he heard it. The tingle of troll and human magic filled the air before a loud explosion shook the western tower. The western tower? Fuzzbuckets, you were on duty today! Crows flew from the open window, a whole murder blackening the sky for a few moments. They’d dispersed by the time he made it to the tower entrance. There was a small crowd a few paces back, Lancelot and another knight inspecting the swelling ward full of fire. Douxie pushed through the crowd just in time to see Lancelot raising his sword. 

“No! Everyone run!” he screamed. 

Lance was already going full swing when he heard it, looking back at Douxie in fear. Douxie grabbed the knight and made the best ward he could on short notice before the shield burst. They were all blasted backward, a few serfs’ tunics setting on fire. His dark hair was thoroughly windswept, his entire body frozen in shock on the ground. Lancelot might have been screaming, but Douxie couldn’t hear it. Blood dripped down his pale face, but Douxie couldn’t feel it. He could have been floating, his head was so light. Sure, his ears rang, his hands trembled, his chest heaved, but all he could feel was you. Your confusion, your panic. You were definitely inside. Douxie struggled to his feet and stumbled forward into the tower, ignoring Galahad’s voice yelling for him to stop.

If he wasn’t suffocating before, he sure was now. Douxie brought his hood to his mouth to filter some of the air and began searching for you. It wasn’t a very big room, but between the fire, smoke, and items strewn throughout, it was proving more difficult than he’d hoped. 

You let out a groan, the table pushing splinters into your leg.

He whipped his head towards the source of the sound, hoping to catch a glimpse of movement. “Y/N?! Y/N, where are you?” he cried.

Weakly, you spoke through a great cough. “...Douxie? Is that you?” 

He hurried to the large pile of wood and began tearing it apart. “It’s me, it’s me, love. Please be alright, please, please, please, you can’t die. You’re not going to die, love.”

Hisirdoux heaved the table off you just as you slumped to the floor. He lifted you by the arms with a mighty roar, dragging you towards the open doorway. Galahad and the knight from earlier ran to catch you both as Douxie slipped into unconsciousness. 

༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓

Two days. You hadn’t stirred for two days. The sun shone softly through the long linen curtains. Your familiar was perched on the headboard, asleep. Douxie was sat up by your bedside, bandaged hands gingerly holding one of yours while Archie slept on your legs. The boy had gotten burned pulling the debris off of you. He hadn’t left your side, save when the castle nurses forced him to eat, bathe, and sleep. They knew him well, uncoordinated as he was, and it broke their hearts to see him look so tired although the past couple of days were the most rested he’d ever been. He was scared. Everything had gone downhill when he found out you were soulmates and he blamed himself. 

“None of this would have happened if I’d just told you. You could have been away from the tower, safe with me. I was too afraid of losing you. All I knew was you loved someone else and I couldn’t let you guilt yourself into abandoning ‘him’ because we’re bonded. I was on my way to tell you, you know. I saw what you were thinking to Corinth and Archie convinced me to go after you. I-” his voice cracked, fresh tears coming to his eyes. “I love you, Y/N. I have long before I knew about the bond. I hurt you. I hurt us both. If only I wasn’t such a coward…” He was weeping now, head hung low and shoulders shaking. “I love you so much, and I still let this happen,” he stammered between quiet sobs. He brought your hand to his forehead, cradling it as if it was the most precious thing in the world. And to him, you were.

He jumped when your hand slowly withdrew from his. His head snapped up, and there you were. Sun shining behind you like a halo, your eyes glinting in a tearful smile. You wiped the tears from his cheek, just like he’d done to you with the unruly slorr all those months ago, and let out a yelp of surprise. Douxie had thrown his arms around you and buried his face into your shoulder.

“Doux! Your hair tickles,” you croaked, bringing your arms around him. He was crying again, just a little. His chest felt light. You were here. You were okay. Archie had woken when you jumped and was padding up to your face, pushing himself against your cheek. You sat up slowly when Douxie released you and patted the space next to you on the cot. He settled and looked up at you, eyes still sad.

“So, uh. How much of that did you hear?”

“Enough.” You cupped his face. “Douxie. I didn’t fall in love with a coward. I fell in love with the bravest, most selfless wizard in Camelot. Not to mention his adorable manbun. I love you too, Hisirdoux Casperan. Soul bond or not, I want to spend the rest of eternity with you.”

He brought his hand to yours, feeling the tiny curl trap blossom on the ring he made you. Gently, he took their hand in his, admiring the accessory. “Even after all I did, you kept it on.”

“And I don’t plan on ever taking it off,” you smiled. 

He slowly removed the ring, taking hold of your left hand. His eyes were hopeful and a little scared when he looked up at you, fingers pausing. Tears welled up in your eyes.

“Promise?”

“With my whole heart, love.”

You placed your hand on the back of his neck, pulling him into a soft, loving kiss as he slipped the promise ring onto your finger.

༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓

Lance had lost his arm in the explosion but was rather excited about his new prosthetic. You two had healed as well, soon going back to work. Every time you passed one another, fingers brushed, kisses were stolen, and smiles were shared. The entire castle ended up hearing about how you two became so close, and soon enough, you were somewhat of a folk tale amongst the townsfolk. Now, every Christmas, soulmates exchange handmade gifts while sharing sweetbuns, now deemed a good omen for true love.

Even now, 900 years later, you’d hide your smiles as Arcadian couples surprised one another with things they’d made while ordering an eclair at Benoit’s. It’d been so long, but it seems some things stay the same, you and Hisirdoux included. Sure, you’d both grown in character, but around you, he was still the same lovesick fool he had been all those years ago. You still had your ring, which he’d embellished a bit on your wedding day. Douxie still thought about you as much as he did then. Today, while you were at your job at HexTech, you smiled adoringly at the words on your wrist.

“Your eyes are such a lovely color. Oh, how far we’ve come from clumsy accidents and runny ink. I love you, darling. More than you can ever know.”

[henryholmesacademia]

Predilection Chapter One

A/N: ahhhhh....I’m so nervous and excited! This isn’t my first time writing and publishing something on tumblr, but it is the first time I write for this guy. Hope you like it, and hope you stick around but please don’t feel obligated too. I don’t like doing synopsis or previews because I feel like it gives the story away, so you’ll just have to feel this one out. Enjoy! Or not, I can’t tell you how to live your life <3

beta reader, co-writer, motivator, and all around love of my life: @lost-aesthetic-of-past​ 

This isn’t a special story.

Might not even be a story at all.

But rather a telling of events that happened in a certain order and have been strung together to create a tale that could cure the boredom of the mind and indulge the land of fantasy.

We won’t start from the beginning. I’ll spare you the boring details and let you come to your own conclusions.

We’ll start our telling of tales in a humble tearoom.

The famous detective Sherlock Holmes had just finished having a somewhat futile conversation with Edith in the search for his younger sister. Come to think of it, it was not much of a conversation as much as it was a reprimanding of sorts. It might even be considered educating him on a subject he knew nothing of and needed a good slap into reality.

“You said she was traveling with a boy?” Sherlock inquired as she was making her exit from the room.

She stops at the doorway. “A useless boy, she called him. I couldn’t help but be reminded of a woman who traveled through here yesterday. We were about to close when she came in. She was wet from rain, but she didn’t seem to mind it at all.” She turns to look at him. “She said you would be here today, and it seems her assumption was correct. She told me that she would be waiting for you at 6 o'clock, Mr. Holmes, and that you had better dress nicely.”

“She left no name?” He raises an eyebrow.

Edith shrugged. “She was very certain that you would know who she was and that you would know exactly where she wanted you.”

Sherlock Holmes has always been talented at keeping his cool. Demonstrating no emotion. His face, some compared it to the likeness of a statue with how unmoved he was in situations.

This would be no different. It had been years since he had last seen the woman who was beckoning him.

And yet, she was always able to pique his curiosity.

“I see you received my message, Mr. Holmes.” Her voice was only accompanied by the sound of her heels. It had seemed that all sound in the bustle of society had come to a stop. No clinking of glass. No servers rushing passed them. It was just her. “And you dressed for the occasion.” Her eyes zero in on his attire. “I do love a man in a tie, as I’m sure you are aware." Oh, how she loved to tease him.

The detective knew basic manners, he was taught right from wrong, how to be respectful toward women, not to mention he had observed enough of the body language and cues of people. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to stand up and pull out a chair for her.

"I thought sending you a message would better prepare you for this, but I see it made no difference.” She sets her bag on the table and sits down on her own accord. She both loved and hated etiquette. There were so many rules and guidelines to follow. However, it did work to her advantage at times. “Tell me, Mr. Holmes, what adventure are you on right at this moment?”

“When did you return from overseas?” He manages to find his voice, though he never meant to lose it.

“I’ve been told that you are looking for someone. Could it be that marquee from the papers?” She stirs the spoon of the tea that a server had set down in front of her.

“You are avoiding my question. Mycroft is not aware that you are back, is he?” He lets out a deep breath. There was never a chance of getting a straight answer from her. She only knew how to respond in teasing and quick wit. Every smile devious, and every word was calculated.

“And you are very rudely avoiding mine.” Her smile, that teasing smile of hers. “Would you like help with the case of the marquee? If you ask nicely, I’ll go with you. Finding people who don’t want to be found is a specialty of mine.” She lifts the teacup from the saucer to her mouth innocently enough, but he knew better.

“But dealing with the damage you leave in your wake isn’t?” His words stop her drink and she places the cup back on the saucer.

“What a pity.” Her face forms a small pout. “I was rather liking our game.”

“You always think of things as some kind of game. There is going to be a day when you will find not everyone wants to join in. Not everyone is a toy who is vying for your attention in hope that you will play with them.”

“I will learn that the day you learn that people are more than answers to riddles.” She challenges. “Indulge me for a moment, why did you come here? You knew it was me who sent for you. You remembered my favorite restaurant, my favorite tea, and if they did not give you this table, I will forever assume that you were the one who asked for the table that was in the farthest corner of the room.”

“You do not want Mycroft to know you are here.” He tries to gauge her reaction and steer the conversation. Like always, she gives a grin. A true Cheshire cat smile.

“No. And you forget, Mr. Holmes, nobody knows anything until I want them to know.” She gathers her purse and stands up from the chair. “Here I was, hoping that we would have a nice dinner. It’s been…” she trails off as she looks for the right word. “Refreshing to see you, Mr. Holmes.”

“Why waste your time having dinner with me?” He can’t help but ask her. Just from observing her, he remembered how she would do nothing if it did not have a motive that she would find useful.

She pauses for a moment as she considers his question and gives him a genuine smile. A rare, but beautiful sight. “Is it so hard to believe that your company might be missed?” As she walks past him, she leans down close to his ear. “As for earlier, this isn’t a game to me, Mr. Holmes. But if it was…you were always my favorite player.” She whispers and leaves him to dwell with the aroma of sugar and spice in the air.

The great detective takes to his pipe that night as he stares into the fire. If you were to see him, you would think that he would be calculating his next move or contemplating his own life. That he would be entirely concerned for the welfare of his sister or mother that has vanished into thin air.

No.

He was thinking about his encounter with that woman. Not even the one from this evening, but all the previous ones he had with her. Each one is more memorable than the last. But none shall ever haunt his memory as much as when he first met her.

He never expected such a woman of high society to be standing in the same room with Lestrade right next to a crime scene. Her voice floated melodiously through the room as he walked through the front door. The smell of spice and sugar leads him to where a woman had her back turned to him while answering the Scotland Yard inspector’s questions.

“Ah, Mr. Holmes this is-” Lestrade begins.

The woman turns to see him, the ensemble on her hat was grand and elegant, but her striking eyes that hide the mischief behind them and her smile, which seemed to match the sentiment, was not hidden or dimmed. They were…quite beautifully complemented by it, as he recalled the words his mother said to him once as a child. She extends her gloved hand. “Miss Harrison.” She finishes for Lestrade with a pearly white smile. “And you are?” She inquires.

He was shocked for a moment as her hand was extended toward him. Society would not have allowed it to happen as a young woman should never extend her hand, and she did not seem to be married. Her glove did not have an outdent from a wedding ring.

“This is Sherlock Holmes, we ask him for consultation, and he comes when he’s bothered to read a telegram from us,” Lestrade adds when Sherlock remains stoic and silent.

The corners of her mouth seemed to turn up even higher at that. “My oh my, Mr. Holmes, the papers do not do you justice.” She looks straight at his eyes when she speaks again. “Tell me, has anybody ever told you how incredibly blue your eyes are? Why, I keep finding myself stopping to admire them.”

“No, miss, I can not say that I have.” He releases her hand and clears his throat while stepping forward to examine what Lestrade had originally summoned him for a routine theft. But from what he could tell, the jewelry stolen was not the woman’s jewelry. For she seemed to not wear any. Women who could afford such jewelry never left their households without displaying a few pieces and any fortune she might have clearly was being spent and invested in their extravagant garments and perfumes.

“I apologize. He’s not - well he does tend to act like that sometimes.” Lestrade finds himself in a very awkward position at the moment.

She turns to see him examining a table, observing his side profile. “There is no need for an apology, inspector Lestrade. He’s exactly as I imagined him to be. He’ll do nicely for this case. My employer would be pleased.”

“Who is your employer again? I never caught the name.”

“Oh, I didn’t say. They would prefer it if they were not associated with what happened at all.” She pauses for a moment. “Is that any problem, Mr. Holmes?” Her voice is a little louder to get his attention.

He ignores her question.

Just as the inspector is about to apologize again, she gives him a grin. “I quite like him, Lestrade. I might just keep him on.”

And keep him she did.

Sherlock takes out her handkerchief that she had slipped into his pocket when she was whispering in his ear, embroidered with her initials and the outline of her lipstick. A color that was almost as bold as she was. He held it up to his nose and, sure enough, it was the scent of sugar and spice.

[dwellordream]

“…The common work of American pioneer children has become an essential story of frontier life. Less well known or acknowledged is that gender boundaries were often disregarded in the course of this experience. Daniel worked not only at tasks with his father but also at those normally seen as women’s work. To help his mother, he dyed cloth, carried water from the spring, helped to nurse the younger children, and cooked. His work was indeed diverse as he did what was needed with little complaint—or so he remembered years later when writing his memoir. Then at fifteen, he was separated from all of it—from his physical labor and from his pious parents (his mother’s favorite word was “wicked”). She was hardly indulgent of him, either in the work he was required to do or in the virtues he was expected to display while doing them.

Many boys did female work. Henry Clarke Wright, who became an outspoken educator and a radical abolitionist, spent his childhood helping his stepmother by babysitting, and much more. “He cleaned, he cooked, he washed.” In upstate New York, where his family lived in the early nineteenth century, he also did more masculine work “riding the horses, yoking and driving the oxen, bringing in the cows, harnessing and all the rest of the hard labor of the frontier farmer.” After his farming experience, Wright was left to become an apprentice in April 1814. Lonely, “home-sick” and with a “feeling of wretched- ness,” Wright learned to grow up fast. He also learned his own mind and how later to defend his extremely independent and unpopular views.

The American boys of the early republic grew early into independence. They were neither indulged nor coddled. They were given some say in the objects of their labor and, when possible, free time to play. But the children were also seen as “little citizens”—persons with capacity as well as potential. Some visitors were shocked by the results, but others were impressed. One Englishwoman observed, “You will see a little being that has not seen the sun make one circle of seasons, lay hold on a toy, not to cram it in his mouth and look stupidly at it, but to turn it curiously over, open it if he can, and peep in with a look as wise as that of a raven peeping into a marrow bone. One mark of early observation and comprehension never failed to excite my wonder. Little creatures feed themselves very early, and are trusted with cups of glass and china, which they grasp firmly, and carry about the rooms carefully, and deposit unbroken.”

There is, perhaps, a degree of exaggeration in such observations, finding the precocious engineer within the child not yet a year old. But in light of current findings by cognitive psychologists about the “scientist in the crib,” perhaps it is less a matter of exaggeration than a willingness to see even young children as more fully capable of independent thought and action than most Americans are accustomed to today. Americans at this time assumed that children needed less supervision and direction. This was true for girls as well as boys. By the time she was six years of age, Caroline Stickney (later Creevey), who grew up to be a nature writer, was expected to go to the doctor alone after she had fallen and severely injured her arm. It turned out to be broken.

“Mother was too busy to accompany me and there was nobody else. Besides children were taught to stand upon their own feet in these days.” Caroline’s regular tasks included bringing the cow to pasture in the morning and retrieving her at night, and, like Ulysses Grant, she was able from an early age to roam freely in the woodland that this future botanical enthusiast loved to explore and whose trees she climbed regardless of risk. At ten, she was allowed to ride the family horse; when she asked her father for directions to find a certain path, he made clear to her that she could find her own way.

Anna Howard Shaw had a more extreme experience, as her father sent his young family from Lawrence, Massachusetts, to which the family had migrated from England after Thomas Shaw’s bankruptcy, to the north woods of Michigan. There the children and their mother were left alone to establish her father’s claim to the 360 acres he had acquired, while he remained East to settle his affairs. Shaw’s mother, overwhelmed by grief and disbelief at the raw and trying circumstances, collapsed emotionally and was “practically an invalid.” This left the enterprise entirely to the five children. Barely twenty years old, Shaw’s oldest brother, James, was in charge. Anna was recruited to lay floorboards on the earth and frame windows and doors.

When even James left because he needed an operation that took him back to Massachusetts, the young children were left to fend for themselves, through a variety of “nerve-wracking” conditions and winters that “offered few diversions and many hardships.” Anna eventually took advantage of opportunities for schooling that led to her unflinching grasp at independence as a professional woman. In later life, Shaw was a crusader for women’s suffrage, and managed to become both a medical doctor and a minister. This kind of brutal induction into resourcefulness and independence, while not representative, was also not uncommon.

Girls and boys matured early, and Tocqueville, for one, believed that American children did not have or need an adolescence. The very young child, given the right to handle glassware or crockery, is a child invested with the capacity to act responsibly. Dr. Spock would note more than a century later that such confidence acknowledged that a child is eager to do “grown up things,” like feeding herself in the same way as the adults around her. And early work laid the basis for later habits. Anna Shaw noted that work had “always been my favorite form of recreation.”

The English commentator who saw precocious infant explorers poking around their toys was observing a different model of child development, one that was becoming as alien to middle- and upper-class Europeans of the nineteenth century as it is to us today. While European children of the middle classes were being treated as precious objects of solicitude, needing careful protection, American children who later became presidents, doctors, writers, and reformers were exposed to adult work and responsibility. And they were far less supervised. It was not only that class was more fluid in the United States in this period but that the specific expectations about children remained more fluid than in Europe.

Later in the nineteenth century, middle-class Americans, too, would begin to separate children from adult activities and treat them, as we usually do today, as fragile beings who needed special toys and risk-proof furnishings. But during this initial period when American society was being formed and the culture was laying down historical tracks, children were much more integrated into adult activities and given both more responsibility and more freedom. Most Americans in the first half of the nineteenth century viewed their children’s early maturity as natural, an expression of both the helping qualities they required in the young and beliefs about children’s abilities to be useful from an early age. It was a widespread phe- nomenon in many parts of the new country and remained an active part of the culture up to the end of the century, while elsewhere in the Western world, children were sentimentalized.

It was true for girls as well as for boys, observed in the eastern United States as well as the West, common among rural folk especially but in cities as well. Rachel Buttz’s father, Tunis Quick, was raised in the Shenandoah Valley in the early nineteenth century. His father was a well-meaning “generous, kindhearted man,” but his decision to back a neighbor’s loan impoverished the family, and soon after his mother’s death young Tunis was “hired to a neighbor who required him to do almost as much work as a full-grown man.�� Just past ten years of age, Tunis quickly became responsible in other ways as well. Tunis objected to the slavery that was a feature of the area in which they lived, so at fifteen he urged his father to move the family to the North.

They stopped first in Ohio “where [he] was variously employed in farming, hauling goods and keeping a ferry on the Scioto River.” Having worked hard and impressed his employer, young Tunis obtained the means to buy a home in Indiana where the family finally settled. Tunis Quick learned early to assist his family as they struggled, and his sense of responsibility also gave him the ability to think independently and to have his views heard and respected. By what we would consider his mid-adolescence, he had not only directed his family’s migration north, but he was buying property for them. Tunis’s desire to leave a section dominated by slavery is also noteworthy, since it was the South, where slave ownership defined the society, that was the major exception to the developing democracy within families.

To some extent, the independence given to children grew from the ideals and values expressed in the Revolution since Americans believed that future generations had to acquire the characteristics that would maintain the principles enunciated in that event. But more than ideology was involved. No simple commitment to an idea can completely explain the behaviors so widely observed and the general willingness to heed children’s independent judgment. Ideology will not necessarily loosen a father’s grip over his sons when he had always expected to be obeyed and to have his commands met, even when he is committed to republican ideals. In the Southern United States, of course, this loosening of paternal power never happened, since slavery reinforced its grip.

And even in other parts of the United States, some observed the loosening of parental reins with concern and attempted to inhibit the young through new institutions of supervision, such as schools, as they recognized how much mischief could be loosed in a world guided by revolutionary principles. Not all Americans took kindly to the idea of children acting on their own. But a widespread independence among the young continued nevertheless. American life in the first half of the nineteenth century was defined by conditions that made such views about children necessary while the restless temperament of Americans made them ready for change and improvement. Together, these conditions provided children with the leeway to become more independent as they became more useful. Utility as well as ideology needs to be taken into account if we are to understand the families that produced a Grant, Drake, Quick, Shaw, or Wright.

The changing circumstances of the early republic resulted from both material conditions and political institutions. Together, these were widely understood as fundamental to the difference between Americans and Europeans. A shrewd, early observer of the difference, the Reverend Enos Hitchcock, sought to sustain the new revolutionary ideology through appropriate childrearing and education. “The systems of education written in Europe, are too local to be transferred to America; they are generally designed for a style of life, different from that, which is necessary for the inhabitants of the United States to adopt: they do not reach our circumstances, and are not suited to the genius of our government.”

To understand the American regime of domestic relations, we need to grasp just how unsettled, raw, and unpredictable the American land and the developing economy were during the important first half of the nineteenth century, since the experiences of American children and their parents were an expression of that reality. This dynamic new economy revised expectations about youth and what it could achieve. So did the laws governing inheritance and generational relations. The changes in American domestic life also transformed power relations between men and women, husbands and wives, and this, too, affected generational relationships in important ways.”

- Paula S. Fass, “Childhood and Parenting in the New Republic Sowing the Seeds of Independence, 1800–1860.” in The End of American Childhood: A History of Parenting from Life on the Frontier to the Managed Child

[rainbowrider1290]

My take on a Genshin Impact Circus AU Part 4 with Noelle as a strongwoman and Amber as a death-defying archery stuntwoman. Their backstories are under the cut!

Noelle:

First off I have a very self-indulgent headcanon that she is ridiculously strong. Like. Can benchpress people. Canonverse or AU.

She used to help out around the circus and she was kind of indifferent to the fact that she was likely going to be a maid. It's a respectable profession. And helping out at her childhood friends' (Kaeya and Diluc) manor as she'd been born into doing seemed like a good job.

How she got into the circus life requires a bit of backstory. Back when they were kids, Kaeya, Diluc, and Noelle would mess around (as kids do) and have little challenges for themselves. Who can run the fastest, who can do the best cartwheel, who can jump the highest, and the like.

Noelle got a little hesitant as she got into her early teens bc she was always told to be ladylike, so she spent one or two of their hangout sessions watching Kaeya and Diluc and talking. One day, however, Kaeya and Diluc are being Teenage Boys and lifting heavy things trying to outlift each other. Noelle has lifted furniture when cleaning up after these two so she figures this one unladylike thing would be okay.

She comes up behind them and just. Picks them both up. On top of the things they were lifting already. Kaeya and Diluc have to take a second and just look at her like "yeah no you are never sitting out of our competitions again"

And so they try other things like cartwheels and tests of courage like who can climb the highest on a tree and things are back to normal.

Skip forward a few years and Crepus dies. There's a huge mystery around it that not even his son's attendants are privy to. The only thing people know is that the sons have been sent away to boarding school. The whole manor is abandoned, all the workers fired.

Noelle for the next few years spends her time working at laundromats, and other odd jobs, but eventually she runs out of luck and suddenly there's too many people and not enough opportunities.

One of her friends from one of her old jobs invites her to go out and see this new circus that happens to be in town. She goes because why not. And wouldn't you know it one of the acts is her childhood friends doing these death-defying stunts that hit her with a wave of nostalgia bc their entire act consists of essentially the song "anything you can do" but with more and more dangerous stunts.

Noelle of course has to say hi, so they catch up and Noelle's lack of work comes up and would you look at that Aether and Lumine happen to have an opening for a maid.

So Noelle settles in, continuing to lift heavy shit to clean under it (Bennett swears up and down he saw her lift a fridge once but he might've been sleep-deprived). She also got into helping Chongyun with the techy stuff so sometimes she'll be at tech rehearsals moving things around and one time a rope holding up a person breaks near Noelle and she. catches it.

Now, one night. One of the acts drops out at the last moment bc injury or last-minute commitment or the like. And it leaves a gap in the show. Everyone else is busy. And panicking bc the circus is still relatively new and they really need to build their rep rn.

They start wondering what kind of last-minute acts they can put together like "what about the gymnasts??" "They all have group routines" "do they have old routines??" "Not polished enough for what we need" and someone somewhere pipes up "man I wish we had a strongman or something" and Diluc and Kaeya immediately whip their heads around to look at each other for like half a second before Kaeya bolts. He finds Noelle doing her usual rounds she's been doing for like a month now and Bennett was right, she is currently under a mini-fridge that she is lifting over her head whilst leaning it against a wall.

Kaeya takes Noelle by the shoulders and just zooms her over to where the commotion is happening and pitches the idea to Aether and Lumine. They're hesitant as hECK bc this is a huge risk they're taking since Noelle isn't even a performer but Diluc pitches that they could literally just scatter really heavy items and have Noelle clean under them and as long as she looks at the audience every once in a while it can be played off as a bit.

Noelle with qUITE the stammer says that she'll try her best but at this time is in need of a moment. She has never performed before. Kaeya and Diluc have to go perform so they leave her with a shoulder squeeze and a thumbs up.

She gets on-stage. She flinches under the lights for a second. She takes a deep breath and focuses on the first thing before her with her best "oh heavens, it's filthy in here", and she gets through the entire act by doing that for every object. So the audience is seeing this seemingly petite young girl lift the equivalent of a hecking car in order to clean under it.

Needless to say, there's roaring applause the second Noelle leaves (which she hears from far away because holy shit I just cleaned for people and they liked it)

This was a bit of a one-time thing and she goes back to her regular maid duties until the circus gets a new strongman by the name "Zhongli".

His style is more about lifting exTREMELY LARGE ROCKS, and breaking them in half whilst giving a history/geology lesson on them.

He quietly observes the maid who he hears fantastical stories of That One Time She Charmed An Audience By Cleaning. He was bewildered at first but saw the merit of it while watching her clean. He immediately decides that this girl has sO MUCH. POTENTIAL that is being wasted by having her work as a maid. He has nothing against maids or their profession, but he invites her to train with him.

Noelle gets hELLA stronger and they come to a conclusion. Noelle performs part-time and is a maid part-time. She doesn't have a particular performance style. She'll sometimes play catch with Zhongli and his big rocks, other times she'll be in the background of performers like Amber in the art lifting some hEAVY SHIT.

She gets along with Chongyun super well bc Chongyun has to make less trips to move his equipment since he's worked with her. She's a blessing for when they have to pack up and move.

Amber:

Amber's story is a little more straightforward. She started out engaged to a suitor. Amber was the kid in kindergarten who was learning about dragons and "idk what everyone else was doing". She's known what she wants for a long time, and what she wants at the moment, is not a relationship.

Throughout her childhood she was a very lonely child. Her family exposed her to lots of academic or ladylike things (do not ask me when this au is set, it's the 1800s and the 1990s at the same time or a suspendes steampunk time) to get her away from the thing she liked most: archery. She'd been exposed to it as a kid and latched on.

This drove a bunch of suitors away, so her family got more desperate and exposed her to more classes and activities to get her away from it. She went "that's easy, I'll just practice at night"

So she does that. She practices at night and underperforms in the coming weeks. It is during this time that her parents (high class ppl) find her a man to marry for some business deal idk.

The man's nice enough. It's just obvious he can only take Amber in small doses, and Amber takes full advantage of this to practice and stay in shape.

How Amber gets into the circus life was essentially running away. She bonds with Eula over this.

So because of all the attempts to make her fit into the ideal lady description, her rebellious streak said "yeah we're going to go as far away from that as possible" and she goes "I'm going to run away with the circus" bc that's what the books she's read say is the most rebellious thing you can do.

She finds THE FIRST circus she sees and begs to be let in. This is the shadiest most sketchy place but Amber sees it as the key to her freedom. She signs a contract.

They treat her like the US treats their students. She barely gets time to practice for performances and she's mostly doing dirty work. When they ask her what she can do she's like "I'm really good at archery" and they go "cool, you're going to be doing that while everything is on fire now. Can you do a handstand"

Essentially they push her and push her and push her to do more and more hazardous things she has to pick up on under the threat of being kicked to the curb.

After a while of this Amber is extremely burned out (pun intended) and as she's packing up after one of her shows, covered in burns but proud bc she hit all her targets without killing anyone, she's approached by a blond foreigner.

Tbh for all she's read, Amber really doesn't consider leaving and this time she can't run away since she's now bound by a contract (not Zhongli's btw in case anyone was wondering).

This foreigner tells her that there's so many ways to improve her situation and that he runs a circus looking for members.

Amber refuses since she's not getting tangled up in another legal mess, but she takes his advice on how to take care of her burns, and improve safety while she's performing.

Skip a few months. She hears word of this mysterious new circus around. Her encounter with who she'll later know as Aether stuck with her, and so she goes. To see whether she could really shoot her arrows without being burned alive.

After a show one night, she tries to get past security and fails repeatedly. She turns to leave and wouldn't you know it there's Aether. And Lumine. Waiting for her once she turns the corner. Amber's biggest concern is her existing contract and when Aether and Lumine say they have a nICE lawyer, Amber sees her next step to freedom.

Aether and Lumine essentially gain custody of Amber (but like for adults) and Amber is. Shocked. She's walked through her new contract of employment clearly and essentially treated like a human being.

And now that she knows things and has more freedom (though still under the watchful eyes of Aether and Lumine to see how she does) her creativity and competitive streak flourish. She decides she actually doesn't hate fire, she just doesn't like when she doesn't know when or where it's coming. And she makes fast friends with the gymnasts, so she ends up incorporating that into her routines. Now she uses her canon goggles to protect her from the burning eyes of prolonged smoke exposure when she uses fire.

When she meets a little pyromanic girl named Klee, she's thrilled that someone this chaotic and sure of herself exists.

[thekillerssluts]

My Relationship to Performance Has Changed

A great rock-and-roll show means openness, confrontation, and a kind of danger, and those ideas right now feel too heavy to lift.

Last October, before the second pandemic wave took off in New York City, I had one last band practice in my backyard in South Brooklyn. Five of us were working on songs from my new solo record. Normally we’d play in the basement, but it’s pretty low-ceilinged, and we’d read Zeynep Tufekci’s recent Atlantic article on viral spread, so we were all hyper-focused on air circulation. My bandmate Sara had contracted COVID-19—and recovered—in March, but the rest of us had no immunity. Besides, we suspected that we were in for a long winter and might as well hang out outdoors.

It was warm in the sun. After hauling the drums, keyboards, keyboard stands, guitars, and amps outside and plugging everything in, I hadn’t wanted to bother setting up microphones, so we had to play softly to hear ourselves harmonize. When we paused for lunch, someone leaned out of a fourth-story window in the apartment building next door and yelled: “Are you done or are you just taking a break? I have things to do, but I really miss live music!” “Me too, man!” I called back. “Should be just a break.”

Six months and a difficult winter later, the break is ending. I’m seeing more and more Instagram posts for shows that aren’t just wishful thinking. Low-capacity indoor shows are popping up in New York. Outdoor—maybe even full-capacity indoor—concerts are coming this summer. Am I ready to play? Ask me every other day and the answer changes. I’m torn. I’m desperate for sound engineers to get back behind the board and bartenders to start earning tips. I want venues to thrive again, both as places for art in neighborhoods and for the sake of the network that keeps music culture alive in America. I want my booking agent to feel excited again; he loves music so much. And I want musicians to make a living. So many people have been so screwed by the past year. I guess I just want everyone to get paid.

But the actual performance; the rebuilding of the sonic cathedral, as Dave Grohl wrote last spring; communally reaching for rock-and-roll transcendance? I’m not there yet. I’m not concerned that I’ll get sick. I received my second vaccine shot at the end of March and am ready to high-five strangers on the subway. My hesitance has an element of crowd-shyness, which we’ll all get over. But in my own performance, I don’t know how to meet this moment. A great rock-and-roll show means openness, confrontation, and a kind of danger, and those ideas right now feel too heavy to lift.

I used to think of performance in purely aesthetic terms. In the movie La Strada, a clown wearing angel wings does a high-wire act across a crowded piazza. For his finale, he brings out a table on the wire and, while balancing, tries to sit and eat a full plate of spaghetti. The heroine of the movie watches him with an almost religious ecstasy. When I first started performing, I strove for transcendence and stupidity, high concept and low art. My focus was on keeping myself in the air.

When my band Arcade Fire was playing mostly to people who hadn’t heard us before, we felt that the best way to get them to open up was to blow the windows and doors out. At an early show in Lawrence, Kansas, my brother, Win, bashed Styrofoam tiles out of the venue’s ceiling with his mic stand. We pushed as hard for an audience of six people (two of them my parents) upstairs at AS220 in Providence, Rhode Island, as we did in front of tens of thousands in the desert at our first Coachella show (during which I accidentally cut Win’s guitar cable in half by repeatedly smashing a cymbal into the ground).

At a certain point, as people got to know our music, my relationship to performance changed. The energy from the crowd was greater than anything coming from the giant speaker stacks. The audience wasn’t a challenge to overcome, or an opponent to conquer. We became a team. Not in an abstract, lovey way but how a sports team operates—pushing one another to do better, sometimes failing, sometimes frustrating one another, sometimes just joking around.The high-wire act of live performance—Will the music come together?—was still there. I’ve even sometimes tried to make the metaphor real, climbing arena scaffolding with a drumstick in my teeth and a drum strapped over my shoulder to play 30 feet in the air. Some of our crew members hate it—“Will! You have children now!”—but climbing up there doesn’t actually feel that dangerous, and a little nervousness is good. I’m reaching for primate simplicity and catharsis: The crowd needs tension to experience release.But now I have no desire to make tension. I want people to feel safe and comfortable, and I wonder whether creating a feeling of danger and openness is antithetical to that. I know that cultivating a perception of safety and actually making people safe are different. On tour, in a big venue, every night our management and local security have a briefing. It’s partly to set a vibe—People are here for music. Everybody be chill. If some teenager sneaks into a closer section, please let them. But the briefing is also serious—where the medics are located, what the escape routes are. Most of the time, these safety measures are invisible. I worry that post-pandemic precautions, as welcome and necessary as they are, will be depressingly visible. Some elements, such as temperature checks, will be inane. Some, such as requiring vaccination, will be important. Regardless, they will also set a tone—not You are entering a place for music, but You are entering a secure location. Dancing is hard when you’re looking at your feet; singing is hard when you’re thinking about everybody else’s breath. I bet the crowd could get over this. I’m not confident I could. With limited capacities and tight procedures, I worry that the stage will feel like the VIP section of the VIP room at a members-only club. Sterile, lonely, all of us chillingly aware that we are part of a ticketed event.

I have another concern that’s hard to shake. After this pandemic year, I’m more aware of the responsibility I have not only to the people who buy tickets, but to the driver making deliveries to the show and to the family of the woman working arena concessions, people who really don’t care about what I’m doing onstage. Vaccination numbers will grow, and the pandemic will end, God willing. I’m not worried about the spread of the coronavirus in particular. But these links of responsibility remain. The analytical part of my brain turns off when touring starts. Before scrambling back to normalcy, I want to make sure that this sense of connection becomes embedded in how I think. I would really love to just be a musician—but I’m also an employer and a player in an industry that has chewed up and spit out plenty of people, especially in this past year.

My hesitations are all about shows, though, not music. Over the past year, I’ve rarely played music with others—a few practices and filmed performances; work on the new Arcade Fire record in November; a handful of Zooms with bandmates to help a school’s PTA fundraiser or support a candidate in the city-comptroller race. But in all of those instances, I’ve experienced an ease, a rightness to the communication—not through the screen with whoever was listening, necessarily, but the people I was playing with. That connection felt restorative, like having a night of deep sleep that repairs parts of yourself you don’t know how to access.

I know people are ready for live music, ready to forget themselves in a wash of sound, ready to loudly talk with their friends over the song they don’t like that much. And so, for heaven’s sake, go to Neumos in Seattle when shows come back. Go to the Hideout in Chicago. See your favorite band, or somebody new. Plenty of artists don’t share my nervousness. I don’t want to add worry to the world; I’m just figuring out my new relationship to performance.

The magnolias are out in New York, and some of the apple trees are blossoming. Temperatures are creeping past 60. The vaccines keep rolling out. The future seems more possible. If I miss an emotion from live shows, it’s not any moment of transcendence. I miss the time just after, when, dazed and excited, you still feel the reach of some universal gesture, but the only thing concrete is the people around you.

https://www.theatlantic.com/ideas/archive/2021/04/world-changed-what-makes-live-show-successful-didnt-arcade-fire/618625/

[imaginejamesandsirius]

Can you please write a fic where James is a rich,star footballer and Sirius comes in to work as his super hott personal bodyguard??? And then James starts crushing on him hard but Sirius is hesitant because he could lose his job over this!!!! Please please please write this... I am a biiiig fan of your work... God Bless❤️

"What? I don't need a bodyguard," James said. The very idea was preposterous. 

Coach glared at him, but the rest of the team was slightly more reserved in staring him down. The whole administrative team was there, from the head coach to the team's PR representative. "There have been threats." 

"So? I also got threatened when I was seventeen and nothing ever came of it." 

The team manager jumped in then. "This isn't a schoolyard threat made because you stole someone's girlfriend. Or- whatever," he said, fumbling a little-- as he always did-- when he said something thoughtless and remembered that James was gay afterwards. That being said, James definitely had stolen some girlfriends at school because it was the best approximation he could get for what attraction to women was. "These are extremely conservative people who want you dead and aren't shy about showing they're serious," the team manager continued. "Even if they don't manage to kill you, they could permanently injure you, effectively ending your career. Is that what you want?" 

James huffed, knowing that he was being a little petulant and not caring. "No," he admitted. If he'd been just talking to his mates, he never would've admitted it, but they'd all gotten together to sit him down and make sure he listened to them; they wouldn't have bothered if they weren't seriously concerned. 

"Then get a goddamn bodyguard," Coach said. "It won't be forever-- just until these people realise they have better things to do with their time than harass a popular footballer." 

"Fine." If James had known it would be this much trouble to come out, he wouldn't have done it. He'd just been thinking that he might like to date someone for real. He'd also thought about himself when he was younger and how he could've figured out that he fancied men before he was twenty sodding three if one of his favourite footie players had been gay (and out. He wasn't discounting the idea entirely just because they hadn't said anything.). "I don't know where to find one though." 

"We've got a list of possibilities," someone else said, handing James a sheet of paper-- for the life of him, James couldn't remember what she did, but in his defense, he'd only met her once as an introduction and then seen her in passing at the past six years of holiday parties. On the paper was a list of agencies, their websites, and phone numbers to contact them. There wasn't any mention of price, but it's not like James was pressed for cash or anything. Hell, he'd already reached his lifetime savings amount and didn't really know what to do with the salary he was still getting. Might as well use some of it to stay safe and pacify his bosses. 

*

James had weighed all his options and looked at all of the information he'd been given, and he still couldn't decide. He'd handed the list to Remus, and he'd picked one at random; James took his choice as a good decision and called the company up. They made everything so easy for him that he was beginning to think Remus had special choosing powers. From now on, James was going to run his decisions by Remus before doing anything. 

And then he actually met his bodyguard. He couldn't decide if this was better than before, or worse. Either way, he didn't think asking Remus for advice would really be the way that he wanted for his life to go. 

He was told that his bodyguard's name was Sirius, and they had a first meeting at the company to sort out a few details. If James was a smart person, he would've taken one look at Sirius and said, "Thanks but no thanks, can I get someone else?" But James wasn't smart. He was a dumbarse. A dumbarse that let his heart make decisions for him. Sirius was, in a word, gorgeous. He had a face that looked like it belonged on the cover of a magazine, and a smile that stopped James's breath in its tracks. He was sure that Sirius was good at his job, but James rather doubted his decision to accept him as a bodyguard. He wasn't going to be able to focus for shite. 

James explained the situation to Sirius-- the boring stuff, about why he needed a bodyguard-- and he didn't blink at him being bent. Either he already knew that because he followed football, he didn't care, or he cared but was a very good actor. James imagined that there was a certain amount of acting as a bodyguard, but he'd also like to think that Sirius wouldn't have accepted if it bothered him. 

James had been afraid that Sirius was going to walk slightly to the side and behind him and stay resolutely silent the whole time, but he carried a conversation alright as they walked to James's car. "I'm sure you get this all the time and you're annoyed with it, but why's your name Sirius?" 

The look on Sirius's face showed that he was very much used to the question, even though he didn't look annoyed by it. "Named after the star in Canis Major. Being named after stars is sort of a family thing." 

"Really?" James asked. He was instantly charmed. Sirius hadn't even put much effort into it, but James was head over heels after exchanging two words with him. 

"Mmhmm. My brother's Regulus, my father and great-grandfather were both Orion, and I've got a cousin named Bellatrix." 

"Wow. Your family must've been made fun of a lot when they were kids." 

Sirius snorted, and James looked at him curiously. 

"What?" 

"I wouldn't call any of us... well-behaved children. Got in a lot of fights." 

"Ah, and it led to you being a bodyguard?" 

Sirius shrugged with an easygoing smirk. "Might as well do something you're good at, right?" 

*

"It's total rubbish that they're putting McLaggen in before you," Sirius said one day after practice. 

"Right?" Then he paused. Sirius hadn't been around long enough to be so certain of that. Which meant, "I knew you were a fan. Why didn't you say anything?" 

"I didn't want to freak you out. You're dealing with enough right now that I didn't want for you to worry about your bodyguard fawning over you." 

"Aww, you fawn over me?" James asked, unable to help a pleased smile. 

"It's called knowing who the best is," Sirius said with a wink. 

*

"You don't get along with your brother?" James asked. Personally, he didn't have any siblings, but from what he understood, those relationships were often complicated. Lily, for example, cared about her sister even though-- as far as James could tell-- she was kind of an irredeemable twat that didn't seem to like Lily at all. 

Sirius shrugged. "He wants to like our parents, but now that he disagrees with them on everything, it's not easy. I keep telling him that his life would be easier if he stopped talking to them, but he feels all guilty about it." He rolled his eyes expressively. "I think he thinks that he owes them for them not being worse." 

"You both should get new parents," James said. "I volunteer my own." 

"I think you stop needing new parents when you're an adult." 

"Words that can only be spoken by someone with shite parents. Maybe you don't need parents anymore, but if Regulus is still trying to connect with them, it means he needs someone. My parents are great. Mum will probably see him smile once and then demand he come to Saturday night dinners for the next ten years." 

Sirius snickered. 

"Oh, I'm not joking," James insisted. "Lily and I haven't been together since we were eighteen, and she still comes over for dinner when she can make it." 

"Only you would be on such great terms with your ex that your parents would do that." 

"Bold of you to assume my parents wouldn't have done it whether we were on good terms or not. They blood adore her, and that didn't stop because we weren't dating anymore. I swear, they love every single friend I let them meet. If I introduced them to your brother? He wouldn't make it out of that house without them knowing his favourite dessert. He wouldn't stand a chance." 

"Maybe that's what he needs," Sirius said, sounding amused. "We'll have to set that up when this all blows over." 

*

James's first problem with Sirius had been that he was so gorgeous James couldn't think for shite. His second problem with Sirius was that he was an attractive person all around, not just in his face. Honestly, who had decided that someone should get to be that pretty and also be that funny? It wasn't fair to the rest of humanity. 

He'd never been shy, so he told Sirius that he fancied him shortly after figuring it out. Thinking a bloke was fit as hell was one thing. Actually fancying him was quite another. People were fit all the time, and James had never lost sleep over it. He knew he'd regret it if he sat around and pined after Sirius uselessly though. 

He told Sirius, and Sirius looked at him for a second, then blinked. "Erm. James, I can't- I could get fired for dating a client." 

"Right." That made sense. "I hadn't thought of that." He really hadn't thought about it, but who'd want to hire a bodyguard that had a history of hooking up with who they were protecting? Hell, the company could get looked into for solicitation if it happened often enough. If James had thought of that, he would've kept his mouth shut until the end of Sirius's employment with him. "Just... y'know, if you were interested, I'm probably not going to need a bodyguard for much longer." He'd checked back in with the admin team, and they'd said that by next year, he should be good. New information was popping up on people that James's despisers hated more, so they were starting to leave him alone. At least, that's what he'd gotten from the conversation even if it wasn't entirely accurate. 

"I know," Sirius said with half a smile. "I was there for that conversation, remember?" 

"I'd forgotten," James admitted, a little ashamed. He wasn't the best at paying attention to several things at once when he really cared about one of them more than the others. In that case, he ended up thinking about the one thing and trying desperately to pay attention to the rest. That day, he was pretty sure he'd been so focused on getting his life back to normal that he'd ignored Sirius, and even the talk about their upcoming game. 

*

"Bloody hell," Sirius said, one arm around James as he half-carried, half-guided him down the street so they could catch a cab. "I signed up to be your bodyguard, not your designated driver." Despite his complaining, he didn't sound upset, more amused. 

"You could be both," James said slowly, having to put more effort into his words than usual since he was sloshed. He preferred speaking Hindi when he was pissed; it was just easier than English. He didn't think Sirius knew Hindi though, and the only thing he wanted right now was to enjoy Sirius's company. 

Sirius laughed. "Maybe so, but I preferred just doing one." 

"Heeeey, you could do the partner thing soon." 

"I don't remember mentioning a partner thing." 

James licked his lips as he tried to remember what the phrase he'd first used was. "Designated driver. Only, instead of just dragging me to a car, we'd be getting sloshed together." 

"That does sound more fun." 

James was always talkative, but now that he was sloshed, he wasn't stopping. He really liked Sirius. He liked him for lots of reasons, but right now he liked that Sirius was encouraging him. He wasn't getting mad at James for continuing to talk all through the cab ride, or as he helped him up the stairs to his flat. "You're so wonderful," James mumbled. 

"Thanks," Sirius said with a laugh. He fished around James's pockets for his keys. James turned and rested his head on Sirius's shoulder, which did make it easier, but somehow he thought that wasn't what James had had in mind. 

"You're so pretty," he said, turning his face into Sirius's neck. 

"Thanks," he said again. "It's nice to be appreciated." 

"In all my life, I've never met someone that made me feel like you do," James said. 

"I don't know what you just said, but I'm going to assume it was complimentary." 

James nodded. He kissed Sirius's neck because it was there. "The prettiest damn thing I've ever seen." 

Sirius swallowed thickly. He didn't need to understand the language to know that whatever James said was something he would appreciate. The kiss sent tingles down his spine, and James's mouth was still resting close enough to him that Sirius could feel his breath hot against his skin. "As much as we would enjoy that, I thought we agreed to wait." 

"You're right. You're just so pretty," he whined. "It's really not fair. You should try to be less pretty; it would make my life easier." 

"You can live with it," Sirius said. He finally found the keys and put it in the door for him. He unlocked it and pushed the door open. James looked pretty comfy where he was, and it made shuffling him inside his flat a bit harder than getting him here had been. "C'mon mate, you've got to get in bed." 

"But you're not there," James said, sounding awfully petulant about it. 

Sirius chuckled. "No, but you'll get to sleep just fine without it." 

"That's what you think." 

"Love, you're drunk enough that you'll definitely pass out before the night's through." 

"Aww, you called me 'love'. No one's ever done that before." 

"Really?" 

James nodded again, but since he wasn't leaning on Sirius as heavily this time, he swayed a little. Sirius was still right next to him though, so he was able to keep him from falling over. "My last boyfriend called me 'babe' but I sort of hated it." 

"You do seem like you'd prefer the sweeter pet names. Sweetheart, things like that." 

"Feel free to call me sweetheart as much as you want." 

"I think I will. After I stop working on protecting you, that is. We've still got to wait, remember?" 

"What I remember is issuing an invitation that never got an answer." 

"I assumed you knew my answer. Or was I not obvious enough about my interest?" Sirius asked quietly. 

"I would say that subtlety passes me by," James said. "But I got it now, thanks. You sure I can't convince you to stay?" 

"Not while I'm working for you, and definitely not while you're sloshed." Sirius brought him to his room and took off his shoes when he collapsed back on the bed. "If you want to get undressed more, you're going to have to do it yourself, sweetheart," he said, then kissed James's forehead. "I'll see you tomorrow." 

*

The day for James to no longer need a bodyguard felt like it took forever, but he could grudgingly admit that it had been a good idea. None of it had been serious, but he was told-- by Sirius-- that that's because having a bodyguard was often a large deterrent. In his time as James's bodyguard, Sirius successfully intimidated several people and got physical with one. James would be lying if he said that it hadn't been hot to watch, but he also wasn't going to say that out loud-- it made him feel like he was the heroine in a teen adventure book. 

"So, do I have to take you on a date before I get to kiss you?" James asked. 

"I wouldn't want you to think I'm easy," Sirius replied with a wink. 

"You like curry? I know a good place." 

Sirius made a face. "I only like it from one restaurant, and it's all the way up in Wales." 

"Wait," James said slowly, a smile creeping across his face, "are you talking about Andi's?" 

"Yes, you know it?" 

"Bloody love it. I can't make the trip as much as I want, but if you're willing, we can definitely go up there." 

"I can think of worse things than spending time with you on the way to the best curry in the UK," Sirius said. 

*

James rented a car because it was easier than taking a cab that far, and it was definitely more private than a train-- which would only be able to take them part of the way anyhow. He wanted for them to be alone anyways, so that they could catch up on all the flirting they'd missed. Not to say that there had been a drought of flirting while Sirius was his bodyguard, but after they agreed to date when his contract was up, they'd tried to tone it down. 

They didn't have to worry about that anymore. 

The drive was okay, dinner was great, and Sirius snogged him for a bit after they got back in the car but before they drove back to London. 

"How the hell do you feel even better than you look?" James whispered, stealing another kiss. 

Sirius chuckled. "I was about to ask you the same question, love."