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aishangotome · 3 months ago

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Main Story Chapter 18-11: Among All of Nature (在萬物之中) | Light and Night 光與夜之戀

Chapter 18-09

♡———♡

With ten minutes to spare before work, I pushed open the office door to find complete darkness. Instinctively, I stepped back and checked the door sign, confirming I was in the right place.

You: Did I miss a memo about a holiday today?

Just as I was about to send a message to the group chat, a trembling hand rose from a nearby desk, followed by a rustling sound.

The hand found the desk lamp switch, and with a click, the lights came on. Li Manman slowly moved her hand back and yawned, covering her mouth. Hao Shuai and Mao Ge raised their heads from between the partitions, their eyes still sleepy.

Mao Ge: I'm so tired...

Li Manman: I'm so tired...

Hao Shuai: I'm so tired...

You: How many all-nighters have you guys pulled?

Li Manman: Not many, just two. Nothing compared to Mao Ge. He not only works an extra hour every day, he practically lives here.

Li Manman: If he can keep this up until the next performance review, I think he might actually become Director Mao.

Mao Ge: I think Hao Shuai is more likely to restore his family business.

Mao Ge: He didn’t realize how many side hustles would suit him until he started looking into it.

As soon as Hao Shuai woke up, he grabbed his phone and started scrolling intently. I heard him muttering about 10 PM deadline for the outsourcing project, 8 PM night class as a temporary teaching assistant, and even 12 AM modeling shoot.

You: No wonder you’re the group’s heartthrob...

I gathered all the cups from their desks and poured a cup of coffee for each of them. The challenges remained, but as ordinary people, all we could do was try our best.

You: Alright, workaholics, let’s have a cup of coffee and get back to it.

Li Manman: I can’t do this anymore. I’m going to focus on work-life balance, and work less overall.

Mao Ge: Y/N, what about you? You’ve been rushing around lately. Did your move go smoothly?

You: It’s a long story, but not entirely smooth. At least I have a place to stay now.

Hao Shuai: What? You’re already done? You said you needed us to help you move!

You: Uh, someone else helped me, so I didn’t need you guys.

Li Manman: Oh~

Mao Ge: Oh!

Hao Shuai: Oh...

It was as if I could see different faces floating in the bubbles above their heads, but in Hao Shuai's bubble, there was a question mark.

Li Manman: Staying up late recently has drained my mental energy. I need to rest and recover.

Mao Ge: You should find a temple to pray for good luck and absorb the essence of heaven and earth.

Mao Ge: There's an obscure one, have you heard of it? Nanchan Temple in the old town.

Mao Ge: It's said to be very small, just one person, one temple, and one statue. It's sometimes open, sometimes closed, but it's especially effective!

Li Manman: Those are not even from the same system. Mao Ge, have you stayed up so late that you're confused?

Mao Ge: Why not? We should gather the strengths of all schools!

My phone vibrated. Mao Ge had already sent the address to the group chat. I took a look; it wasn't too far. There was still time to go after work.

Even when going to pray for blessings, I had to consider the distance. My heart wasn't sincere enough, but it was truly due to the pressures of life. I quickly reflected in my heart, in case I had unintentionally offended some deity.

In the evening, I followed the directions on my phone and walked deeper into the winding alleyways, the hustle and bustle of the old streets faintly audible all around. No wonder it was an obscure temple; this place was really hard to find.

Come to think of it, I had been to this kind of alley with Sariel before for research. The two of us chased a puppy for our notebooks and then were chased in turn by the vengeful little dog. Thinking of this, I couldn't help but laugh.

You: I haven't seen him for many days. When should I go to his house and bother him?

Moments later, I reached the destination shown on the navigation. In front of me was a lacquered wooden door with a plaque on the lintel, but nothing was written on it. The door was half-open, and inside, wisps of smoke curled upwards, carrying the scent of burning incense.

I slipped through the doorway. The interior was larger than I had imagined, but there was no one, not even a monk. I walked into the main hall, where the altar held not an incense burner or offerings, but a scroll.

You: What a strange temple. Where do I buy incense...?

Suddenly, a gust of wind blew, and dust from the ground got into my eyes. A bronze bell somewhere was struck, and amidst the lingering sound, I heard a snap. The cord on the scroll broke, and it unrolled and fell to the floor.

The exposed silk looked quite old, yellowed and fragile, but the roller was new, as if someone had recently remounted it and kept it carefully preserved.

There seemed to be something painted on it, the colors faded and barely discernible. I quickly bent down to pick it up, but the moment I got closer, I froze.

You: This is...!

The painting depicted a young woman with a gentle smile on her face. Even though the colors were faded, the brushstrokes were still vivid. But the problem was, the shape and arrangement of her features were almost identical to mine!

As if possessed, I unrolled the scroll a bit further and was even more surprised, speechless. The face could be said to be just similar, or a common face, but her clothes were also exactly the same as what I was wearing now!

Ancient painting style and brushwork, modern clothing, it was indescribably bizarre. Just then, I heard a soft "puff" behind me.

You: Who's there?!

I nearly jumped out of my skin and turned around to see a white-haired old man standing behind me. He was dressed in a blue-black monk's robe, and a thread-bound book lay on the ground at his feet.

Temple Keeper: It's actually true.

You: True? What's true?

Temple Keeper: This painting has finally found its destined owner.

The monk bent down and picked up the book. I heard a long sigh of relief.

Then, he walked over and gazed at the painting in my hands for a long time. I quickly offered it back to him, but he rolled it up and handed it back to me.

Temple Keeper: It has waited for generations. Since cause and effect have finally aligned, please take it with you.

You: Cause and effect aligned...? What cause, what effect?

Temple Keeper: With my limited abilities, how can I understand cause and effect? I am merely within it.

What did that mean? I was about to ask when he turned and floated away. I chased after him for a few steps, but even though he seemed to be walking slowly, I couldn't catch up.

I passed through the door, and in the blink of an eye, the blue-black figure was nowhere to be seen. I stood in the empty backyard, feeling both confused and a chill down my spine.

Who painted this painting? Why did the person in the painting look like me? Why did the painting appear here? Who was this mysterious monk? For others, these might be unsolved mysteries, but for me...

I composed myself, found a corner to sit down, and opened the scroll again. I gently placed my palm on the portrait and tried to activate my talent.

It was easier than I expected. A blurry image appeared before my eyes. Someone was painting. They wore something on their arm, and every movement made a metallic clinking sound.

Their appearance was familiar, but their face was unclear. I was unwilling to give up and tried hard to see, not noticing the faint sound of tearing silk beneath my hand. The next second, the image vanished, and the silk ripped apart.

The fabric fluttered in the air, and dust filled my vision. My nose was full of smoke, and I couldn't tell if it was real or an illusion. I heard the neighing of a horse and a flash of bright light. Cast iron hooves were right in front of me!

You: !

I instinctively leaned back and fell to the ground. The hooves were raised high, but it was as if something had restrained them, and they didn't come down.

Finally, the hooves landed heavily a step away from me, and all the dust settled with a thud.

In my line of sight was cold, gleaming iron armor. A pair of hands with clearly defined knuckles were tightly gripping the reins, seemingly with great force, causing blue veins to bulge prominently.

Silver-white hair fluttered in the air, golden eyes engraved with two deep beast marks. That familiar, handsome face was stained with blood, dripping down, blending into the crimson cloak on his shoulders.

The man's gaze shifted to my face, cold as the silvery moonlight of a winter crescent moon. That name swirled on the tip of my tongue, unable to be spoken. Was I dreaming?

We stared at each other for a moment, then he seemed to come to his senses first. The murderous aura faded, replaced by a soft confusion in his eyes.

Sariel: You...

You: Sariel!

It was like this, the situation was very strange. I knew I should ask him what was going on, but my instinctive reaction was only --

Sariel looked so handsome dressed like this! Although I didn't know why he was dressed like this, the priority was to take a picture first!

I took out my phone at the fastest speed, opened the camera, and just as the shutter sound clicked, a spear shot straight towards my face.

First hooves, then a spear. As expected, you can dodge the first time, but not the fifteenth. This thought flashed through my mind, then it shut down completely. I stood there, unable to move.

Click --

The raised phone snapped in half, split perfectly down the middle. Shards flew everywhere like rain.

Sariel retracted his spear, his expression indifferent.

Sariel: I told you not to pick up things of unknown origin. They're very dangerous.

You: What danger? This is my phone!

Sariel: Phone?

He said these two words with a strange intonation, like a child learning to speak.

You: Yes, phone. Is your phone broken too?

Sariel: Broken?

You: It's broken, so it's broken. Why did you break my phone? Director, you have to compensate me for a new one.

Sariel: Director?

You: Uh, former director. I didn't know you also played cosplay.

The horse snorted softly. Sariel frowned, as if my words were upsetting him.

Sariel: Don't talk nonsense.

It was rare to hear such lines from Sariel. I became a little worried and looked him up and down.

You: Sariel, what's wrong with you today?

Sariel: I should be the one asking you. Why are you dressed like this again and running to the battlefield? Don't you know it's dangerous here?

You: Battlefield? Isn't this a temple?

We each looked around. The dust had settled, and the temple buildings were still standing. Except for a patch of grass in the courtyard that had been grazed by his horse, everything was peaceful.

A long silence. When I turned back to look at the main hall, I felt a gaze following me. I used my peripheral vision to search, but found that Sariel was looking in a completely different direction.

But I was almost certain that it was the person in front of me who was observing me.

Dressed as a general, speaking in a strange way, not recognizing me or the phone. I also calmed down and thought it through from the beginning.

Previously, the Spirit Clan elder mentioned a method that could disguise someone as another person. That possibility couldn't be ruled out.

Rather, this possibility was very high. But unlike before, why was this "Sariel" dressed like this and playing along with me?

Just as I was thinking this, he seemed to have confirmed something and turned his head, staring at my face for a long time.

Sariel: I was mistaken. You... called my name as soon as you opened your mouth, making me mistake you for an acquaintance.

Sariel: May I ask, where is this?

If this was acting, it could be said to be quite superb. I clenched my sweaty palms, analyzing. Running would only arouse suspicion. Just assume for now that he wanted to gain my trust.

You: I can tell you, but you must answer a few of my questions first.

The person in front of me furrowed his brows slightly again. I had to say, he imitated his little gestures quite well.

Sariel: Speak.

You: Is your name also Sariel?

Sariel: What do you mean by 'also'?

The counter-question was also spot-on.

You: Are you a general?

He made a sound that probably represented affirmation.

You: A Spirit Clan general? With a younger sister and an older sister at home, and the elders in the clan treat you with great respect?

Sariel: Who are you?

The tip of the spear stopped in front of my forehead, and I felt a tingling sensation on the bridge of my nose.

You: Don't get worked up. Maybe we really are acquaintances. I'm just confirming.

Strange. Judging by his appearance, it didn't seem like he was acting. Although his behavior and language were somewhat different from Sariel's, that kind of demeanor couldn't be imitated.

To be safe, I asked a few more questions, and he answered them all fluently.

Identity, family, these could all be faked. I had to think of a more specific question.

You: Then... how about you tell me your birthday?

Sariel: You mean my birthdate?* Back then, no one remembered the date. Later, following human customs, it was set on August 15th.

*In chinese, the way we say "birthday" in modern day vs. back then are different, just like how language was a bit more formal back then compared to now.

August 15th. That was the date he mentioned on Ling Island, his real birthday. Not many people should know, but besides me, maybe there was also...

Sariel: Someone said that the moon is the fullest on that day, so it's a good day for reunion and celebration.

The exact same words froze me in place. These were the words I had said. That's right, he later mentioned that someone else had said this before.

Everything fit perfectly. I pondered for a long time, unable to think of anything else to ask. I raised my head and looked directly into his eyes, resolutely and self-deprecatingly.

You: One last question. Let me see your nine tails.

He was angry, thoroughly angry. I could feel it. If he had ears on his head and a tail behind him, they would have definitely exploded into several hedgehogs.

You: I'm sorry, I was just kidding!

I quickly clasped my hands together, looking at him sincerely and pretending to be pitiful. His hand holding the reins tightened and loosened, but in the end, he just turned his face away.

There was a faint blush on the tips of his ears. He seemed unaccustomed to it himself and raised his hand to cover them.

I stared at him blankly, feeling both familiar and unfamiliar, with a sense of unreality.

When all possibilities are eliminated, the one that remains, no matter how impossible, must be the truth.

This was Sariel, a Sariel from the past, who was still a general, didn't know about phones, and spoke a bit strangely.

I had fantasized many times about what I would do if I could meet the past Sariel. Now, the past Sariel was standing in front of me, within reach.

So I followed my heart's impulse and reached out my hand, only to be stopped by a cold spear. There was a sharp glint in his golden eyes.

Sariel: Are you done asking? Can you tell me where this is now?

You: Yes, yes... As for where, this is Nanchan Temple, Nanchan Temple in Guangqi City.

Sariel: Guangqi City?

The Sariel in front of me still looked confused. I looked at him with a smile and boldly said the word.

You: ...This is the future.

Sariel: Future.

He repeated it, no longer with the urgency from before. His expression calmed down, as if it wasn't the first time he had heard it.

Sariel: And who are you?

You: I'm Y/N.

This time he didn't say anything, just nodded quickly.

You: Have you heard of my name?

Sariel: No.

He jumped off his horse, his armor clinking. When the soles of his shoes touched the dirt on the ground, he tilted his head slightly, as if sensing something.

You: But I've heard of your name. I know you, General Qi.

You: A... friend of mine told me about you. He looks a lot like you.

I took a deep breath and continued on my own.

You: Maybe it was me who brought you to the future.

These words sounded a bit absurd and self-aggrandizing. Sariel probably wouldn't believe them. I had to find a way to prove it.

But unexpectedly, Sariel just stared at my face for a moment. In the time it took for the wind to pass between us, he nodded again.

Sariel: What's your purpose?

I was stunned for a moment, then I understood. Both the past and present Sariel were the same. He didn't need others to prove anything. He relied on his own observations.

You: I didn't do it on purpose. I just touched this painting, and you came out.

You: A lot of strange things have been happening to me lately.

Sariel followed my gaze to the scattered pieces of cloth on the ground. His horse seemed a bit uncomfortable in this environment, pacing restlessly. Sariel stroked its neck and turned to me.

Sariel: Send me back.

You: Huh?

Sariel: Since you summoned me to this place, shouldn't you be responsible to the end?

Sariel raised his chin slightly, with a matter-of-fact expression. Only then did I realize that there were subtle differences. The expression between his brows was more flamboyant than the current Sariel's.

You: Responsible, responsible, of course I'll be responsible. But...

I wanted to see more of the past Sariel, to talk more with him. His life was so long that even if I recounted it all, there would inevitably be omissions. It would be better for me to see it with my own eyes.

But... I looked at the dried blood on his face. He had come with the smoke of battle, and he had also mentioned the battlefield in his words. He was probably in the middle of a war, and an army couldn't lack a general.

You: Forget it. I'll try to see if I can use it to send you back.

I squatted on the ground, gathered the fragments of the painting, and tried to put them back together. It reminded me of playing jigsaw puzzles as a child, and the process was just as unsuccessful as it was back then.

An armored arm reached out, adjusted the position of two pieces, and then took a piece of cloth from my head and put it on. Now it was complete.

I coughed awkwardly, thanked him, and quickly closed my eyes, placing my hand lightly on it, just like the first time I tried.

However, this time, no matter how I tried to sense emotions or use my talent, my mind was blank, let alone opening something like a space-time portal.

You: What's going on?

I opened my eyes and met Sariel's gaze, which he hadn't yet withdrawn. His expression was focused but not urgent.

Sariel: Can't you do it?

You: It seems... it's not working...

I was a little anxious and a little ashamed.

You: I'm sorry, I'll try again. It will definitely work.

Being inexplicably summoned to the future and then inexplicably unable to return. I had been immersed in the joy of seeing the past Sariel and hadn't considered that this might not be a pleasant experience for him.

Sariel: There's no rush.

You: Huh?

Sariel: I said there's no rush.

Sariel looked at me calmly.

You: But don't you need to rush back to the battlefield?

I pointed at the armor on his body. The horse had somehow come to my side, its wet breath blowing on my hand.

Sariel: That battle is already over. I also want to see what the future she spoke of is like.

You: What did you say?

Sariel: I said, where is your residence? My horse is tired, and I'm tired too. We need to rest.

You: Residence...?

Sariel: What, are you unwilling? Then taking me to the inn in this city is also fine.

Inn? Did he mean a hotel? Imagining Sariel tying his horse at the entrance, even the most capable doorman would probably be at a loss. I couldn't help but laugh.

It was great that he wasn't in a hurry to go back. Maybe this Lucky Temple was really a bit efficacious. I raised my head.

You: Of course I'm willing. It's just that my "residence" is not quite what you imagine.

Sariel: The future naturally has many different things.

This Sariel accepted it very quickly, even seeming a bit eager to try. I had almost never seen such an expression on this face, and I suddenly felt it wasn't good for my heart.

Sariel: Let's go.

Before he finished speaking, he had already jumped onto the horse agilely. I was stunned. That's right, I hadn't figured out what to do with this horse.

Sariel: Where is your horse tied, or do you plan to ride with me?

You: No, no... The point is that in our era, people don't usually ride horses on the road.

You: And it's quite far from here to my house.

Sariel only pondered for a moment.

Sariel: There are two ways.

Sariel: One, I temporarily leave the horse here and go back to your residence with you using your method. It will find its way back later.

You: Is this what they call a horse with spiritual understanding?

You: Sounds good. What's the second way?

Sariel: Second--

He attached the spear he had been holding to the side of the horse and extended his hand to me, a faint smile on his lips.

Sariel: I'll take you on horseback. We'll run very fast.

His eyes reflected my image. The familiar world and my familiar face were all dyed golden. I couldn't help but speak.

You: How fast is 'very fast'...

Sariel: So fast that no one can see clearly, or even faster.

That's not true. No matter how fast, someone would still see clearly. Even if people couldn't see clearly, there were cameras and videos in this era. If we were captured, it might become big news.

But... what was that compared to the joy of galloping through the city? I reached out my hand, and he immediately grasped it. With a slight pull, he lifted me onto the horseback.

Sariel: Let's go.

I felt one of his hands clasp my back, securing me to his chest, while the other held the reins. With a neigh, the horse leaped high, soaring over the low wall.

The alleyways beside us became mere blurs. Even though there was hard armor behind me, I could still feel the wisps of warmth through the gaps, reminding me of that morning on Kunlun Mountain when we rode together.

This was Sariel, I reassured myself again and again.

Sariel: Which direction?

The blurs instantly became clear, and the sensation of flying abruptly stopped. We stood in the shadow of the alley's entrance, facing a crossroad with relatively few people.

Oh right, I forgot the most important part, the route... I wanted to take out my phone from my bag for navigation, but the moment I touched the two metal fragments, I remembered its fate.

You: My phone!

Sariel: Is that thing important?

You: Of course it's important! Whether we can find our way home depends on it.

Sariel: You don't know the way home?

Sariel looked incredulous. He didn't mean any harm, but I still felt a sense of mockery in my heart.

You: It's my first time here too!

Sariel: Can this square box hold a map?

He picked up the phone fragments and looked at them against the sunlight, seemingly very curious. I was momentarily speechless. I didn't even know where to start to explain modern communication principles to him.

You: It can indeed hold... but not in the usual sense of holding... It's a bit complicated.

Sariel: Then there's no need to explain. When I live to this era, I'll naturally know these things.

Listening to his words, I inexplicably remembered that after Sariel learned he could use emojis instead of typing, he made good use of them for a while. I turned my head and smiled mysteriously at him.

You: Yes, not only will you know, but you'll also get used to it. Not only get used to it, but you'll also get addicted to it.

Sariel: I never indulge in frivolous pursuits.

Of course you wouldn't indulge. It just makes you even more adorable. I really wanted to say that. Although they were both him, I still... missed the Sariel of this era a bit. What was he doing?

By the time we got home, it was already dark. I watched Sariel guide the horse to the fence in the backyard and couldn't help but worry about the safety of the greenery.

In the end, I still couldn't remember the exact route home. Fortunately, I remembered the general direction, and the spirit horse could recognize the same scent on me, so we didn't get lost.

The horse stopped, and Sariel untied its saddle and bridle, combing its tangled mane with his fingers.

Sariel: Salted Fish, you've worked hard.

You: I think I misheard.

You: Salted Fish?! You named your horse Salted Fish?

Sariel shook his head.

Sariel: Not me. My younger sister named it.

I had only heard Sariel mention that he had a younger sister, but I hadn't heard any specifics. I couldn't help but feel curious.

You: Your sister... has quite a personality, huh.

Sariel: Impulsive, disrespectful, unreliable, clingy, and always likes to say strange things.

Sariel: Just like what you're saying now.

He stared at me for a while.

Sariel: You two are very similar. She also mentioned the future to me.

Likes to say strange things just like me? If strange things referred to words similar to "future," then no wonder he could understand me even though I didn't speak in ancient Chinese.

But very similar... what did that mean? This Sariel seemed to be lost in thought while looking at me, his eyes unblinking. Somehow, I felt a subtle melancholy flowing from them.

You: You seem to have a good relationship with your sister.

He came back to his senses, neither confirming nor denying, silently turning his head to look at the furnishings in the room.

Sariel's gaze lingered on the family photo at the entrance, which showed my mother, grandmother, and me. He seemed a bit hesitant but still spoke.

Sariel: You also have a good relationship with your family.

Was this a reciprocal exchange? I couldn't help but laugh. Sariel's way of speaking was always unique.

You: Of course! Let's go inside quickly.

I took out a pair of brand-new slippers for him. Sariel put them on, still in his armor, and walked into the room with a clinking sound. His face was covered in dust, and there were red marks on his wrists from the armor rubbing against them.

You: General Qi, is your wrist alright?

Sariel glanced at the red and swollen area, unconcerned.

Sariel: This is heavy armor. It's natural to get like this after wearing it for a long time. It's no big deal.

You: Why don't you change clothes and take a... uh, a bath?

He looked around the narrow room, a doubtful expression on his face.

Sariel: There's a place to bathe here?

You: Though it's small, it has everything.

I led Sariel through the narrow hallway and into the bathroom, explaining to him what the faucet was, what shower gel was, where the cold water was, and where the hot water was.

Sariel listened silently, and I sneaked a glance at his focused and thoughtful profile. This feeling of taking care of him was quite novel.

After finishing the explanations, I came out and used my computer to send a message to the Sariel of this era. I didn't know if this time-travel incident had any effect on him, so I wanted to ask about his recent situation first.

Next, I needed to find some clothes for General Qi. My wardrobe was full of women's pajamas, and the only men's clothing I had was a sample shirt.

You: Pajamas and sleep pants... He definitely won't fit into those.

You: A dress... looks quite similar to a lower garment. Would ancient people accept it?

But... I really wanted to see Sariel wear it. After struggling internally for a while, I picked out a large nightgown and grabbed the shirt. Just then, there was a loud bang from the bathroom.

Something must have happened! I rushed over and just as I pushed the door open, a strong jet of water drenched me from head to toe.

I finally managed to open my eyes again. Amidst the water mist, Sariel held a metal faucet, staring blankly at the pipe spraying water outwards. He had already taken off his armor, and his inner robe was completely soaked.

Hearing the door open, he turned to look at me. I wasn't sure if it was my imagination, but for a moment, he looked embarrassed.

There were traces of the faucet being violently pulled off at the pipe's opening. This might be some kind of fate. The first time I went to Sariel's house, I fixed the faucet there, and now I had to fix my own.

You: Do you have a grudge against my things...?

Sariel: This thing is too fragile. Why don't you use a well?

You: ......

That moment of embarrassment was indeed an illusion! He was clearly very righteous and unfazed. I resignedly took the faucet and prepared to screw it back on, but I underestimated the force of the water jet, and it was instantly bounced away.

Fortunately, before it hit my forehead directly, Sariel reached out and caught it in his palm. He rubbed the connection, screwed it on the way I did. It was awkward at first, but soon it became smooth.

After fixing the faucet, he also intuitively screwed back the temperature control handle that had fallen to the side. He was indeed Sariel. As I marveled, I handed him a new towel and new clothes.

You: Luckily, the clothes I prepared for you didn't get wet. Change into them later.

Sariel accurately picked up the large nightgown.

Sariel: This is for me to wear?

You: Yes, this style is very popular here.

I put on a serious expression and nodded. But before I could finish the gesture, those golden eyes were already close. Sariel bent down slightly, meeting my gaze at the same level.

Too close, our noses were almost touching. His eyelashes were still dripping water, trickling down the corners of his tightly pressed lips. My face heated up, and I wanted to look away, but he caught my cheeks with two fingers.

You: Wha... what's wrong?

I managed to say these few words. He had taken off his armor, and the scent of smoke and dust had dissipated. Now, all I could smell was the familiar fragrance of sandalwood.

I could only look into those eyes, eyes like a small beast's, curious, inquiring, and nonchalantly invading another's territory.

Sariel: You're lying. I won't wear it.

Just as I was about to be unable to hide the sound of my heartbeat, Sariel seemed to have finally reached a conclusion. He straightened up and casually grabbed the towel to wipe his wet hair.

Was this a lie detector test? I pinched my burning earlobe and ran out without looking back. They were different, they were definitely different!

Reality also proved that this feeling was not wrong. There were many other differences. Whether it was the scene of us being in the same space, me cooking, and him helping...

Or him chopping the cutting board in half while cutting ribs, breaking half a carton of eggs while opening the refrigerator, and brushing off the cucumber with his sleeve for the third time...

Or perhaps it was because he refused to take off his armor, only willing to change into the new shirt underneath, and wouldn't go to the room I prepared for him, insisting on sleeping where he could see the moon...

Late at night, lying in bed, I thought about many things. Why was I able to summon him, and how could I send him back? Would he be happy during his time here?

In the end, I couldn't help but get up and go to the living room.

Moonlight shone in through the glass door, and the breathing from the sofa was very light and shallow. I stood by the wall and listened for a while. Whenever Sariel stayed over, it was usually me who fell asleep first.

Wanting to get a little closer, I had just taken a step when I heard the sound of something cutting through the air indoors. In the next instant, the cold glint of a spear was pointed directly at my throat.

You: It's me.

Sariel retracted his spear, his eyes even brighter in the darkness.

Sariel: I thought it was an enemy.

That's right, he came from an era of constant war and was in an unfamiliar environment, so it was natural for him to be vigilant and uneasy. I couldn't help but clench my palms.

You: No, there won't be any enemies here, and there's no great danger.

Sariel: I know, I can sense it from the air, but my body is not used to it yet.

He held the spear in his arms, and I pulled on the long handle, leading him to sit on the floor. I took out a bottle of plum wine from the drawer under the coffee table. This bottle of wine had been there for a long time.

You: General Qi, do you like to drink?

Sariel: I only like to drink good wine.

You: That's perfect, this is good wine. Drinking it will help you relax and sleep well.

Sariel picked up the transparent bottle, glanced at the swirling liquor inside, and then put it down.

You: You don't want to relax? Why?

Sariel: I'm not used to it.

I was stunned for a moment. Was this how all generals were? In that case... I took out two small porcelain cups, about the depth of a pinky finger.

You: Then just have a small sip?

This time Sariel nodded.

You: General Qi, can you tell me your story?

Seeing that he didn't seem willing, I quickly added.

You: I'm just curious. Ordinary people are naturally curious about the legendary experiences of a great general.

Sariel: What do you want to hear? I won't tell you about military matters.

You: Of course not military matters. How about telling me what you'll do after you go back?

Sariel: ...Fight.

You: That's it?

Sariel: That's it.

You: Do you have any other hobbies besides fighting?

Wouldn't that be a bit lonely and monotonous? I didn't ask the second half of the sentence out loud.

Sariel: Hobbies? You also say that.

You: Huh? What do you mean?

Sariel: Someone said the same thing to me. She also said that it would be lonely.

Sariel: But I really don't have any other hobbies.

He seemed to see through my heart.

Sariel opened the wine bottle for me. There were calluses on the edge of his palm, even more pronounced than now.

The question about loneliness slipped away unnoticed amidst the sound of pouring wine.

Sariel: In this era, are there still wars?

After a moment, he spoke again, asking indifferently, as if he didn't care about the answer.

You: Should I tell you?

Sariel: Forget it, don't tell me. If I want to know something, I'll see it with my own eyes.

The moonlight flowed like a river, passing over the wine cups between us, over the horse's tail swaying in the courtyard, and also over the road we took home.

Everywhere was quiet. Whether there were still wars in this era was actually a difficult question to answer, but...

You: At least now, here, this is a corner blessed by peace. You can relax a little.

Sariel looked at me, thoughtful.

Sariel: Not necessarily.

You: Why do you say that?

Sariel: At the temple, you probably mistook me for your friend, but at first, you were very wary.

Sariel: This means that someone has impersonated your friend to gain your trust before.

Sariel: So I deduce that the environment you're in is not entirely safe either.

Impressive, he could even see that. I hugged my knees to my chest and sighed in admiration.

You: It's nothing, really. Just like I said before, I tend to encounter strange things.

You: But encountering strange things doesn't necessarily mean they're bad.

Sariel: Before I go back, I can protect you.

You: Is this the protection a general offers to the people?

Sariel: Not protecting the people, what kind of general would that be?

You: Then thank you, General Qi.

I picked up the small cup on the ground and gently clinked it with the other one next to it, taking a sip first.

Chatting with him, listening to him say such things, even my own chest swelled with a sense of heroism. I placed the empty cup beside me, and Sariel refilled it with a thin layer.

Sariel: Did your friend also tell you about the Spirit Clan general and my family?

You: Mhm.

You: And the nine tails, he told me about those too.

You: He... is also a Spirit Clan member.

I was still hesitating whether to tell him about the Sariel from a thousand years later also existing here.

If I told him, would it affect the time travel? How would the person in front of me react? There were many things to consider. It might be better to explain it this way for now.

Sariel didn't ask any further questions, seeming to accept this explanation.

Sariel: Do you know about talents?

You: Talents? Of course. I'm also a talented person.

His golden eyes flickered.

You: You don't believe me?

I wanted to grab his hand but didn't dare. I could only grab a piece of his armor and try to demonstrate it to him.

You: It's like this. I touch a person or object, then concentrate and activate my talent.

Despite saying that, I didn't actually activate it.

Maybe I vaguely knew what I would see. Rather than seeing it this way, I would rather hear Sariel tell me himself one day.

You: Then, I can sense other people's emotions, and when I'm strong, I can even see their past.

You: How about that?

Sariel: Very impressive.

You: What about you? Do you still have the talent of healing?

Sariel nodded and raised his fingertip. The plants outside that had been grazed by the horse grew back a bit, looking less suspicious.

I looked at his pale profile, feeling a mix of joy and sorrow in my heart.

You: That's great. That way, you'll get injured less in battles.

Sariel's breathing hitched for a moment. The person beside him seemed to be drunk, gradually becoming less aware of his reactions, rambling on with her own words.

Her imagination about war was partly right, partly wrong. It was the kind of exaggeration and naivety that only people accustomed to peace would have.

Somehow, this brought him a sense of comfort.

After a while, she fell asleep, naturally leaning on his shoulder as if following some established rule, one hand raised and placed on his chest.

His heart was being held by someone else, heavy. Instinctively, he didn't like this.

But Sariel didn't move. He gazed at the moon in the sky. After so many years, everything had changed, but the moon was still the same moon.

His free hand picked up the porcelain cup, and Sariel took a sip from it.

It was indeed good wine.

I woke up to a sharp gust of wind. I was lying on the soft sofa, covered with a blanket. I turned my head and saw that the wine cups and bottle had been put away, arranged on the coffee table.

I rubbed my forehead and sat up. I must have fallen asleep while talking to Sariel, and he had moved me to the sofa.

There was a rustling sound again. I followed the sound and saw Sariel practicing with his spear in the courtyard.

The tip of his spear seemed to carry a whirlwind, swirling up the yellow leaves falling all around. Those leaves, like the dust from yesterday, floated in the air until his spear touched the ground, and they all fell down in unison.

At first, Sariel's movements were very slow. After one set, he let out a long breath, his eyes burning brightly.

Starting again, his movements became swift. The third time was like wind and fire, and by the fourth time, only the red tassels could be seen fluttering in the morning light.

After five sets, Sariel retracted his spear and stood at the original spot. There was only a circle of neat footprints on the ground. With each repetition, his steps were precise. I couldn't help but applaud. Sariel turned his head and glanced at me.

The clothes that got wet yesterday were hanging outside, now dry. Sariel flicked his spear, taking my coat down, and with another gentle flick, it landed perfectly on my shoulders.

Sariel: You're awake?

You: Hmm?

Sariel: Do people in this era all wake up late like you?

You: ... I just had a bit of wine!

Sariel smiled. His hair braid was a bit messy, with a few strands falling by his ears.

Sariel: My sister also sleeps until the afternoon when she's at home.

I had noticed it since yesterday. He always looked at me when he talked about his sister, as if I were his sister. Maybe we really did look alike.

I felt like this ancient person with good habits was implying that I was lazy. I pouted and changed the subject.

You: You're so good at spear dancing. Do you usually practice like they say in stories, waking up at the rooster's crow, training in the harsh winter and scorching summer?

Sariel was recombing his hair. Hearing me say this, he paused for a moment. But he answered quickly, as if he had heard these words many times before.

Sariel: But practicing like that will only damage your body. I only practice today because the weather is good.

This tone was quite willful and arrogant, but he was Sariel, he was supposed to be that proud.

After he finished speaking, he turned his back again and placed an enamel basin filled with water in front of the horse, letting it drink. The enamel basin was quite old, and it was surprising that he was able to find it.

Just then, ding-dong, the doorbell rang.

Sariel became alert and was about to raise his spear again. I quickly signaled him with my eyes to stay calm. I peeked through the peephole and saw a tall figure outside, fully armed and leisurely.

The problem was that there was also a neighborhood committee auntie with a red armband, looking at him suspiciously.

You: Charlie?!

Sariel: Fried Pear Pastry*? Is that a kind of snack here?

*This was a play on Chinese words lol. His name sounds like "fried pear pastry" if you don't know what character he uses for his name.

At some point, Sariel had walked behind me, looking at my actions with a puzzled expression.

You: No, it's my friend. His name is Charlie.

To be honest, Sariel and Charlie didn't get along well. Coupled with his armor and spear, I was really hesitant about whether to open the door or just pretend I wasn't home.

But Charlie was taking a risk to come to me. Maybe he had something important to say. Just as I thought of this, the voices outside suddenly grew louder.

Charlie: I told you, my fiancée definitely, absolutely, and without a doubt lives here.

Charlie: As her fiancé, how could I be a suspicious person?

Neighborhood Committee Auntie: Oh, just because you say you're not suspicious doesn't mean you're not. Show me your ID, and I'll leave immediately.

Charlie: I have special reasons and can't show it to you right now.

Charlie: When this period of time passes, if you still want to see it, I'll let you see it clearly.

Charlie responded to the auntie's questions with great righteousness. His words were all true, but she obviously didn't believe him.

Their voices grew louder and louder. Seeing more and more residents who had woken up early spontaneously gathering to watch, I looked up at the sky and sighed, then looked at Sariel.

You: Um, my friend might have something urgent to tell me.

You: Could you please go to the room inside for a while? I'll talk to him and be right back.

Sariel frowned.

Sariel: Since he's your friend, why can't I meet him?

Sariel: Besides, he doesn't sound quite right.

The reason why he can't be seen... After more than half a day, you should know it, right?! I ran over and drew the curtains, hiding the horse in the yard, and then pointed at his armor.

You: It's because of your attire. Wasn't I also startled when I first saw you?

You: As for Charlie, that's just his way of speaking. He's not a bad person.

Sariel seemed to consider it seriously for a while, then nodded reluctantly.

Sariel: I won't go inside, I'll just stay there.

I followed his gaze and found that he was looking at the hallway connecting the kitchen and the living room. Although it was indeed not visible from the entrance...

You: Why? That's just a hallway.

Sariel: I can see outside from there.

After saying this, he didn't say anything more and turned around, walking away with a clinking sound. What did that mean? Before I could think further, the doorbell rang again.

I quickly opened the door and pulled Charlie in. He seemed to want to turn back and give the neighborhood committee auntie an "I told you so" look, but with his face covered like that, it was obviously pointless.

Charlie: Good morning, fiancée.

Charlie was wearing his usual trench coat, a smile in his voice. He stood tall in the living room, looking around as if searching for something.

You: Morning! Wha... what's up?

Charlie: Nothing. I just heard you talking to someone outside. That voice sounded a bit familiar...

Charlie: But it must have been my imagination.

Charlie pondered for a moment, then shook his head. For some reason, I felt guilty. I didn't even dare to look at him, maintaining a smile and feeling my facial muscles twitching.

You: Um... yeah, it must have been your imagination. Is everything going well on your end? Why did you come over suddenly?

Charlie: It's going very well.

Charlie pushed his sunglasses up a bit, his purple eyes sparkling, looking me up and down.

Charlie: I just came to see if my fiancée is doing okay.

Charlie: Her phone was turned off early last night, and she didn't reply to my messages.

Ph... phone? Phone! Charlie contacted me using my phone number. Yesterday was chaotic, and I hadn't had time to get a new SIM card yet. I must have worried him. I lowered my head.

You: I'm... fine. I just went to bed early. Don't worry.

Charlie's expression became serious. He reached out his hand towards my forehead.

Charlie: Don't lie to me. Why are you sweating so much? Do you have a fever?

However, just as his palm was about to touch my forehead, there was a thud from the hallway!

Charlie: What was that sound?

You: It was nothi--!

I almost screamed but quickly coughed to cover it up. Almost simultaneously, there was a rapid knocking at the door, accompanied by an energetic voice.

Both Charlie and I focused on listening. The voice seemed to be saying, "Young Miss, are you up yet?"

It was Jesse! That's right, today was the day of my weekly meeting with Jesse! I jolted awake. Charlie listened for a while and obviously recognized it too.

Charlie: Is that your childhood sweetheart?

You: Yeah...

Charlie chuckled softly, took off his shoes naturally, walked into the living room, and spread his arms on the sofa, looking very relaxed, even more imposing than me, the owner of the house.

Charlie: Then let him in. It's quite pitiful to leave the child outside.

Charlie: Even if he wants to have some childish and meaningless arguments with me, I'll accept it.

Childish arguments can't happen just because one side wants them to. Remembering their previous elementary school-like conversation at the hospital, I couldn't help but tease him.

You: I don't think he'll argue with you anymore. He's joined a government organization now, he's mature.

Charlie: Government organization?

Unexpectedly, upon hearing these four words, Charlie immediately stood up.

Charlie: No, I don't want to run into anyone from a government organization right now.

Charlie: Fiancée, it's not that I'm afraid of him, it's a special situation.

Charlie: I'll go inside first. When you've quickly sent him away, come out again.

You: How am I supposed to quickly send him away...

The situation was changing rapidly. I watched Charlie walk towards the inner room and sighed. Halfway through my sigh, I almost choked. That direction...

You: Don't go there!

I ran over in large strides, trying to grab him, but it was too late.

Sariel, clad in armor and standing in the shadows, locked eyes with Charlie, who had his entire head and face covered and stood in the light.

The air instantly tensed, and the two men stared at each other without moving. After a while, Charlie lowered his head with a somewhat dejected look, lost in thought. Five seconds later, he perked up again.

Charlie: I was just thinking about where I fell short that my fiancée would hide something from me.

He extended his hand to Sariel, looking very friendly and magnanimous.

Charlie: But looking closely, maybe it's not my fault.

Charlie: After all, Director Qi, in this state, is really not presentable.

Sariel didn't take his hand, his eyes filled with hostility.

Sariel: My name is Sariel, not Director Qi. Her name is Y/N, not fiancée.

Sariel: As for being unpresentable, it's your sneaky attire that seems to have some ulterior motive.

He paused.

Sariel: ...Fried Pear Pastry?

You: It's Charlie!

I quickly reminded him in a low voice, and Charlie let out a cold laugh.

Charlie: Director Qi is quite clever. Did you buy the newly released dating skills manual?

Sariel: I don't understand what you're talking about.

The back-and-forth between them intensified, and the knocking on the door also grew louder in sync. I made a pause gesture and forcefully inserted myself between them.

You: The situation is complicated! Anyway, you two stay here for a while, I'll be right back!

I walked to the door, took a deep breath, and quickly opened it for Jesse.

Jesse wasn't wearing his usual Lianshan Society uniform. He looked like a tall and slender college student, his face full of anxiety. Seeing me come out, he let out a sigh of relief.

Jesse: I thought you had forgotten our appointment.

He spoke with a hint of a coquettish tone. It was a normal sentence, but thinking about the situation inside, I felt guilty again.

You: How could that be...

His green eyes were clear and bright, the worry fading away, leaving only joy. My heart softened. I couldn't bear to break his anticipation, no matter what. As for what was happening at home...

You: Um, how about we go out for a meal and stroll around the streets today, for old times' sake?

Jesse: Sure, I'll listen to you. Go change your clothes, I'll wait for you in the living room.

I originally wanted to leave directly to avoid any complications, but when I looked down, I saw that I was indeed wearing pajama pants. Before I could feel annoyed, Jesse had already skillfully opened the shoe cabinet and found his own pair of slippers.

I could only hope to get through these ten minutes peacefully. Thinking this, I noticed that Jesse didn't stop in the living room and continued walking towards the kitchen.

You: Where are you going?!

Jesse was startled.

Jesse: I'm going to the kitchen to get a glass of water.

Jesse: You didn't reply to my messages earlier, so I was a bit worried and walked a bit fast on the way here.

Phone again! It was all Sariel's fault for breaking it! I wanted to cry, but... this was also a good opportunity to tell him about going out later. I eagerly pushed Jesse back and settled him on the sofa.

You: Ah... I didn't see my phone, I'm sorry, Tangyuan.

You: I'll get you some water, you just sit here.

Jesse looked puzzled, wanting to say something but hesitating. I fled to the corner, where the two men's postures hadn't changed at all, still staring at each other.

I mouthed to them that I was going out. Sariel could understand modern language, but it seemed he couldn't read lips yet and looked a bit confused. Charlie, however, understood and took off his mask, also mouthing:

Charlie: Don't want you to go.

You: It's a pre-arranged meeting.

Sariel was still clueless, a look of anxiety gradually appearing on his face.

Seeing him like this, Charlie seemed quite pleased. He patted his chest towards me and mouthed two more sentences.

Charlie: Alright, then come back quickly.

Charlie: This person, I don't think he's quite normal. I'll keep an eye on him for you.

Sariel seemed to have reached his limit. He looked at Charlie coldly.

Sariel: If you have something to say, say it directly. Don't play riddles here.

He didn't control his volume this time. Just as I thought something was wrong, Jesse's voice came from behind.

Jesse: What are you three... doing here?

I wanted to die.

Charlie: Me? I'm visiting my fiancée. What's the problem?

Charlie: You should be asking what this Director Qi is doing here, talking nonsense and playing dumb.

Sariel: Explain clearly, what is a 'fiancée'?

Charlie: You're still saying you're not playing dumb. Fine, I don't mind explaining it to you.

Charlie: A fiancée is someone who will marry me in the future and spend their life with me.

The spear tip pressed against Charlie's neck.

Sariel: Show some respect. Apologize to her.

Charlie wasn't afraid at all. His eyes darkened, and his expression turned gloomy.

Charlie: What right do you have to say that? What does her matter have to do with you?

Sariel paused for a moment, then spoke very frankly.

Sariel: She is my younger sister.

These four words were spoken with great force. A hint of alertness flashed in Jesse's eyes, and Charlie snorted coldly. I wished I could bury my head in the ground. Only Sariel remained calm and composed.

Charlie: Younger sister?

Charlie: Fiancée, did you hear that? Is this something a man with a sense of conviction should say?

Charlie reached out and grabbed the spearhead that was close at hand. Although the weapon was sharp, there seemed to be a transparent barrier between it and his palm. Sparks flew for a moment, and a creaking friction sound arose.

Sariel didn't speak, only the mark in his pupils deepened. The floor beneath our feet seemed to surge and spread. Vaguely, I saw the shadow of nine fox tails flash behind him.

Charlie: Quite strong.

Charlie took off his sunglasses and tossed them aside. He didn't look relaxed, and there was a dark mist in his eyes. I watched as a crack appeared, starting from the floor beneath their feet, extending to the walls and then the ceiling.

Just then, a pattern descended from the sky, turning into countless golden specks. The shadow of a formation appeared on the ground, surrounding them. And they, as if impacted by something, simultaneously withdrew their hands.

Jesse: Stop! I don't care if you fight.

Jesse: But this is the place where Y/N and I have lived for eight years. I won't allow you to destroy it.

Jesse's chest heaved. He held a talisman drawn with a red brush in his hand, his eyes firm. I gave him a grateful look, and he returned a smile, then turned to Sariel.

Jesse: You're Y/N's boss, Sariel, right?

Before Sariel could ask what "boss" meant, I quickly answered for him.

You: Yes, yes, this is my boss.

Jesse: I agree with you. Using the term "fiancée" before a relationship is truly established is very disrespectful.

Charlie seemed to not be listening at all. He hooked his finger, and the sunglasses flew back into his hand.

Jesse: But the same goes for "younger sister."

Sariel: She's younger than me, about the same age as my younger sister. Why can't I call her that?

Jesse: From a long time ago, she promised to be my older sister.

Jesse: So, she won't be anyone else's younger sister.

At first, Sariel seemed to want to understand the relationship between them, but after a moment, he frowned.

Sariel: Nonsense.

Charlie: It's rare for us to agree on something. Nonsense.

Now, it became three people glaring at each other. If this continued, there would be no end in sight. I took a deep breath, finally realizing that only by lying could I resolve this predicament.

You: Listen to me--

You: Actually, I have an urgent design task today, related to ancient costumes!

I pointed at Sariel's armor and spear.

You: Sariel is here to help me, as a part-time model, but he's a bit too into character.

As I spoke, I discreetly tugged at Sariel's clothes from behind, pleading for his cooperation. He didn't seem willing, but after thinking about something, he grunted in agreement. There was a moment of silence in the room--

Charlie: Why would you find him as a model? Is there any aspect of my physique that's inferior to his?

Jesse: Yeah, Young Miss, I'm known as a "clothes hanger" in the theater troupe.

Jesse: And I've performed in various genres of musicals. No matter what style you need to design, I can help.

Then came even more intense clamor. Sariel glanced at Jesse's hooded coat and Charlie's deliberate display of his physique.

Sariel: A pumpkin and a winter melon.

Charlie: Still better than you, a bitter melon.

Chaos ensued again. Amidst the persuasion, bickering, alliances, and breakdowns, I made a solemn promise to design a set of ancient costumes for each of them and invited them to come over for a fitting another day.

I noted down Charlie's desired bird pattern and Jesse's request for a Tangyuan design. As the sky grew dark, they said their goodbyes. But just as they left, a message popped up on my computer.

Jesse's SMS: Jie jie, don't work too hard. I was already happy that you planned to go out with me today even though you were so busy.

The word "sister" was underlined for emphasis.

I felt a bit guilty and was about to reply when I received another message.

Jesse's SMS: You have to make it up to me double next time.

You: ......

Ding! A different notification sound rang. The red circle on my chat app indicated a new friend request. I had a vague premonition and clicked on it.

Charlie's WeChat SMS: This is a temporary WeChat account I applied for. I'll be using it for a while. I still need more ways to contact my fiancée.

I made plans with Jesse for next time and accepted Charlie's friend request, exchanging a few messages with him to help him get the "new friend" system badge. Finally, I had some breathing room to explain things properly to Sariel.

You: Um... don't mind them, they mistook you for someone else. You and my boss, Director Qi, look very much alike.

Sariel sat beside me, watching my fingers fly across the keyboard for a long time, not seeming bored at all. He followed up on my words.

Sariel: What does "boss" mean?

You: Boss means... for example, if I'm a soldier under your command, you're my boss.

Sariel: Then what is a director? Does it mean a supervisor?

You: If you have to say it, it's a bit similar. Director is a title, similar to a general.

You: You could say that before, Director Qi was the General Qi of tailors!

Sariel: Before? Then what about the current Director Qi?

Now... I pondered how to describe leaving a job.

You: It's probably like retiring after achieving success, becoming a recluse...

You: Before leaving, he even handed over his military power to me.

After saying this, I felt a bit embarrassed, as if I was bragging. Sariel looked at me with a gentle expression in his eyes.

Sariel: Was it hard?

I shook my head vigorously.

You: Not hard. And he still came to help me when I was in trouble.

Sariel: As it should be. But if he's still going to come out of retirement, why retire in the first place?

Because... he had something more important to do. I remembered that day in the office when Sariel said he was going to figure out the effects of the degradation on him. Even now, thinking back to his emotions at that time still made my heart ache.

Later, his body seemed to have recovered. But whether he had found an explanation for his previous condition, I didn't know.

I looked at General Qi. He also had a talent. The Spirit Clan had always had talents. So in the past thousand years, had there never been similar degradation cases, leaving them helpless today?

After hesitating for a while, I still asked.

You: In your time, do Spirit Clan members degrade?

Sariel: Degrade?

Sariel pondered for a moment and shook his head.

Sariel: I haven't heard of it. What are the symptoms? Maybe it's a different term.

You: I'm not sure about the specifics, but the body becomes weak and faints.

And also... I remembered Qi She transforming into a white dragon.

You: Sometimes they also take on animal forms and become a bit irrational.

As he listened, Sariel's expression showed understanding.

Sariel: I see. You call this state degradation? We call it decline.

Sariel: It's like human aging.

Sariel: The Spirit Clan's spiritual power also gradually weakens. When the spiritual power is exhausted, it's time to pass away.

This was the first time I had heard that the Spirit Clan could also die naturally.

You: Isn't the Spirit Clan supposed to be immortal?

Sariel: It depends on the strength of their spiritual power. Those with weak spiritual power have a lifespan similar to humans. Those with strong spiritual power might be considered immortal.

You: But now, almost all Spirit Clan members are experiencing this at the same time.

I remembered the research results obtained by NOVATEN. They believed that the cause of the degradation was the disordered growth of the D factor.

Could it be that this situation existed before, but the growth cycle was very long, making the Spirit Clan's degradation seem slow and natural?

Was this rapid degradation a disease that had developed over thousands of years? Could Sariel be considered cured?

You: Then if the spiritual power recovers and these symptoms no longer appear, does that mean everything is fine?

Sariel: I haven't heard of that.

His next words buzzed in my ears.

Sariel: If too much spiritual power is consumed in a short period, it can still recover.

Sariel: Once the spiritual power declines, physical weakness is secondary, but one will definitely lose their talent completely, with no possibility of recovery.

Completely lose their talent, with no possibility of recovery.

On the day he left Wan Zhen, Sariel wanted to save the bird of paradise, but why didn't he in the end?

When he was fixing the fan blade, he clearly had the talent of healing, so why didn't he heal his own wound?

That day, the night-blooming cereus didn't bloom. Come to think of it, was it really my luck that it bloomed the first time?

He doesn't usually sweat. And the path in the mountains, there was originally a barrier, right? That's why it was so winding, but on the evening I left, it was visible from end to end.

I felt my breath quicken, more and more rapidly, until it was no longer under my control, and my vision started to darken. A hand pressed on my back, and a familiar voice sounded faintly beside me.

Sariel: Can you hear me? Breathe in.

I followed his guidance, inhaling and exhaling. My vision cleared, and the numbness in my hands and feet subsided. Trembling, I opened my computer again and clicked on the chat with Sariel. He hadn't replied.

Sariel: What's wrong?

You: I, I have a friend who hasn't been replying to my messages. I want to go to his house to check on him.

Sariel: Is it that "Director Qi"?

You: Mhm.

Sariel: The Spirit Clan member who's degrading, is it also him?

I couldn't even utter a "yes," fear and regret gripping me. I could only nod.

Sariel: I'll go with you.

You: No need, you wait for me at home, I'll--

Sariel: I'll go with you.

His hand was still on my back, conveying a firm strength, suppressing the panic in my chest.

Stay calm, think carefully. I didn't know if there would be any consequences if two people who were essentially the same met...

Sariel seemed to see through my thoughts. His tone was firm.

Sariel: He and I also have a close connection, right?

I opened my mouth, not knowing how to explain. How could I tell him that the future you was degrading and in danger?

Sariel: Just say it directly.

You: He... looks exactly like you, was also a general, is also named Sariel, and is also from the Spirit Clan.

You: He told me about his past, including his parents, older sister, and younger sister, so...

Sariel: He's the future me.

Sariel drew this conclusion, his tone calm.

Sariel: You knew there was a future you here?

Sariel: Your "friend," and the behavior of those two people, it's easy to guess.

He curled his lips into a smile.

Sariel: Do you have any masks?

You: Uh? Yes, I do.

Sariel: Give me one. If he really is me, he probably wouldn't want to see his past self.

His demeanor and words eased my tension a bit. That's right, nothing had been confirmed yet... Even if it was confirmed, I couldn't panic. I forced a smile back at him.

Sariel: What about you? Do you want to see your future self?

Sariel flicked his knuckles against my forehead, a gesture that made my nose tingle.

Sariel: You're the most inquisitive person I've ever met.

Once again, we rode through the city on horseback. On the way, Sariel even reminded me to get a new phone.

The scene of him taking out copper coins at the counter, and the expression on his face, I would probably never forget.

We were about to reach the present Sariel's house on the hillside. I looked at the fox mask on the person beside me.

You: It suits you quite well. I remember buying a fox mask.

Sariel: You really like foxes?

The usual Sariel definitely wouldn't ask such a question, but he asked it so naturally that I didn't know how to answer.

You: I like... I definitely like them... But the main reason is...

The design of this mask was drawn when I went to the temple fair with Sariel. After coming back, I made it out of metal as a souvenir.

It's said to be in the shape of a fox, but it's not entirely so. If someone who didn't know the story saw it, they might not even recognize it.

Because the prototype I based it on was simply Sariel. Him in his fox form, him in his human form, both are him, yet not entirely him. So I took some features from each and combined them.

But of course, even without such craftsmanship, when various animal-shaped accessories were presented to me, I easily favored foxes.

This was really too difficult to explain. I could only reply to him in the simplest way.

You: Alright, I admit I just like foxes!

As we spoke, we had already arrived. I knocked on the door, but there was no response from inside. So, out of habit, I squatted down, moved a flower pot by the door, and retrieved a key from underneath.

When I opened the door, General Qi was standing behind me, so I missed the expression on his face. It was a rare expression, both joyful and nostalgic.

After entering the house, I looked around. The rooms, the yard, and even the studio were all empty. Even the little lizard was gone.

When I turned back, I found Sariel standing next to a plant - it was the bird of paradise that had been transplanted to the yard.

Sariel: It's dying.

You: Yes, it's because of me. He didn't use his talent to save it back then.

You: He usually doesn't like to use his talent to interfere with the life and death of plants. I thought it was the same that time.

I squatted down, supporting the drooping leaves, only to watch them fall again. Sariel reached out his hand, hovering it above my head for a moment, but didn't let it fall.

His fingertips pointed at the broken part of the plant. He hesitated for a moment, then finally lowered his hand.

Sariel: Let's wait until he recovers and let him handle it himself.

He was comforting me. Would he definitely recover? I stood up and muttered a soft "okay." Sariel looked at the bird of paradise for a while longer, then suddenly seemed to remember something.

Sariel: In your era, do Spirit Clan members still share their spiritual power with others?

You: Share with others... Does healing count?

Sariel: Yes, but there's more.

Sariel raised his hand, and a ball of light gradually condensed and took shape in his hand.

With a muffled sound, a light blue, translucent, and soft ball-shaped object landed in my hand, pulsing softly in my palm like jelly.

You: Hmm... what is this?

Sariel: Spiritual power.

You: Spiritual power actually looks like this?

Sariel: It's not naturally like this. I condensed it into this form.

I gently touched this spiritual power "ball" and felt it cling to my fingers as if it had life.

You: I've never heard of Spirit Clan members being able to turn their spiritual power into a physical form.

Sariel: Not every Spirit Clan member can do it. At least I haven't met a second one.

Why did he sound a bit smug? I couldn't help but smile. I wondered if the present Sariel could do it.

Unconsciously, I squeezed the ball of spiritual power into a square shape and even pinched out two fox ears.

You: It's so malleable...

My hand froze. The DEA component report flashed through my mind again. Both the D and A factors were extracted from spiritual power through experiments.

At that time, I didn't understand. Spiritual power was such an intangible thing, how could anything be further extracted from it?

But Sariel could turn spiritual power into a physical form. If there was someone within NOVATEN who also possessed such a skill, using spiritual power for experiments wouldn't be difficult.

NOVATEN didn't record any experiments on the A factor, perhaps because it was too specific and had no effect on humans.

But what about the Spirit Clan? From the report, degradation was the result of an imbalance between the two factors. If the A factor in a Spirit Clan member's body also increased accordingly, could it counteract the D factor and prevent degradation?

You: If the A factor increases...

Sariel: Factor?

You: Yes, it's the research result on spiritual power in this era.

I translated the terminology as best as I could and told Sariel all the information I knew so far, hoping he could try to relate it to the ancient situation and discover something.

You: But this thing that increases spiritual power, the A factor, is different for every Spirit Clan member.

Sariel: That is to say, even if spiritual power is shared with others, it can only provide temporary relief.

Sariel: The recipient's body needs to have this substance to continuously generate spiritual power.

I nodded. He summarized it well.

I don't know if it was the movement that triggered my neck, but I felt a wave of dizziness. The spiritual power ball in my hand fell to the ground. I squatted down to pick it up but almost fell over.

Sariel grabbed my arm, steadying my swaying body.

Sariel: What's wrong?

You: I suddenly feel a bit dizzy, it's okay.

Was it like low blood sugar? I lowered my head to regulate my breathing.

Sariel: His A factor and mine should be the same, right?

I looked at him. He seemed to have briefly closed his eyes just now, and now his bright golden eyes were slowly opening. I hesitated.

You: The same, yes... they should be the same.

This answer satisfied him. His slender fingertips were entwined with faint blue mist. I suddenly had a premonition--

Sariel: If I share this substance with him, his degradation can at least be temporarily stopped.

The premonition came true. Sariel spoke calmly and matter-of-factly, as if saying there was only one moon and one sun in the sky. I stared at him blankly.

You: Wait a minute, that's not right...

☼ Light: Worry about the damage/consequences to him.

☾ Night: We don't know how to extract it.

☼ Light: Worry about the damage/consequences to him.

Sariel: What's not right?

You: Th-this is very uncertain. After sharing a part, we don't know if your A factor can regenerate.

You: The information I've seen is limited, and we don't know the specific techniques.

You: What if it causes harm to you...

My voice grew smaller as I spoke. The person who successfully extracted the factor was Zha Zhao Peng. He was ruthless and wouldn't hesitate even if the extraction process was harmful to the Spirit Clan. His success didn't guarantee anything.

Of course, I had thought that they were the same person, possessing the same A factor. But there were still so many uncertainties, I couldn't make such a request. The mist around Sariel's fingertips dissipated.

Sariel: My intuition tells me this is what I should do.

You: Intuition... How can such a big decision be based on intuition?

Sariel: It has saved me many times on the battlefield. It will be useful this time too.

Sariel: Trust me.

Trust him. Once these two words were spoken by Sariel, I became helpless.

He said his intuition told him to do this, but as he looked at me, besides intuition, there was clearly something else in his eyes. I slowly nodded.

☾ Night: We don't know how to extract it.

You: It can't be separated.

Sariel: Why?

You: I... I don't know how to extract the A substance either. Logically, it should be inside this ball you created.

Sariel was taken aback, looking at me with confusion, his face practically screaming, "What's wrong with that?"

Sariel: Then let's start figuring it out from now on.

My mind was made up, so all that remained was to find a way. It was almost certain that asking NOVATEN for the extraction technology would not end well. I sat on the sofa, pondering.

Sariel was gazing at the porcelain tea set on the table, seemingly wanting to touch it, but he held back. I couldn't help but smile, picking up the teapot to offer it to him, only to find a square-folded note tucked beneath it.

Qi She's Note: Sis, Lao Qi and I are going to Lin Island, it's urgent!

You: This handwriting... is it Qi She's? No wonder he hasn't responded to my messages, did something happen...?

This thought made me anxious. Lin Island has Man Lou and the medicine to stop degradation, did they discover Factor A? Or even if they haven't, could they find a solution based on this?

It was worth a try, and besides, Modern day Sariel was there now. I put the note away and turned to General Qi, who was studying the ink-wash plum blossom painted on the teapot.

You: Let's go to Lin Island.

Sariel: Where is Lin Island?

You: An island where the Spirit race lives, haven't you heard of it?

Hearing the words "Spirit race settlement," Sariel looked a bit puzzled and then shook his head.

You: So Lin Island's history isn't that long either... Anyway, he's there now.

Sariel: Then let's go.

You: Yes!

The person beside me stood tall. Everything related to the degradation was like a tangled puzzle, and I was tired of being helpless, only able to cry and lament.

But before this, what gave me the right to say such things? It was Sariel, both past and present, who always brought me hope and the courage to speak my mind.

I stood up, feeling another wave of dizziness, my feet stumbling slightly. This time, I quickly regained my balance.

Sariel noticed this slight pause, his eyes downcast. A future filled with turmoil, a person identical to his sister... he wanted to stay longer, to see more.

But, it was no longer possible.

Chapter 18-13

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#light and night #light and night translations #evan #sariel #osborn #jesse #charlie #light and night chapter 18 translation #lu chen #xiao yi #qi si li #xia ming xing #zha li su

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meg-moira · 4 years ago

Text

The Witch Who Spoke to the Wind

Sequel to Eindred and the Witch

In which Severin, the golden eyed witch, learns that his greatest enemy and truest love is fated to kill him.

Dealing in prophecies is a dubious work. Anyone who knows anything will tell you as much.

“Think of all of time as a grand tapestry,” his great-grandmother had said, elbow deep in scalding water. Her hands were tomato red, and Severin watched with wide golden eyes as she kneaded and stretched pale curds in the basin. “You might be so privileged to understand a single weave, but unless you go following all surrounding threads, and the threads around those threads, and so on - which, mind you, no human can do - you’ll never understand the picture.”

Severin, who was ten years old and had never seen a grand tapestry, looked at the cheese in the basin and asked if his great-grandmother could make the analogy about that instead.

“No,” she replied. “Time is a tapestry. Cheese is just cheese.”

And that was that.

By fifteen, Severin who was all arms, legs, and untamable black hair, decided he hated prophecies more than anything in the world. He occupied himself instead with long walks atop the white bluffs well beyond his family’s home. Outside, he could look at birds, and talk to the wind, and not think about the terrible prophecy which followed him like a shadow.

His second eldest sister had revealed it - accidentally, of course. Severin lived in a warm and bustling house with his great-grandmother, grandmother, mother, two aunts, and three sisters. All of whom were generously gifted in the art of foretelling (a messy business, each would say if asked), and every one of them had seen Severin’s same bleak thread.

He would die. Willingly stabbed through the heart by his greatest enemy and truest love.

Willingly. That was the worst part, he thought.

Severin, who had no talent in the way of prophecies, but plenty of talent in the realm of wind and sky, marched along the well-worn trail, static sparking around his fingertips as the brackish sea breeze nipped consolingly at his face and hair.

I will protect you if you ask me to, it blustered, and Severin was comforted.

He didn’t care who this foretold stranger was. When this enemy-lover appeared, Severin would ask the wind to pick them up and take them far, far away. Far enough that they could never harm him. The wind whistled in agreement. And so it was settled.

At seventeen, he was still all arms and legs, though his eldest sister had managed to tame his hair with a respectably sharp pair of shears. The wind, who had delighted in playing with his wild, tangled locks, did not thank her for it. Severin did thank her; in fact, he’d asked her to do it. He was of the opinion that his newly shorn hair made him look older - more sophisticated. And he left his family home with a new cloak draping his shoulders and a knotted wooden walking stick in hand, thinking himself very nearly a man. He was far from it, of course. But there was no telling him that.

He set out on a clear, cool morning to find his own way in the world, and was prepared to thoroughly deal with anyone who so much as dared to act ever so slightly in the manner of enemy or lover.

He discovered, soon enough, that this was not a practical attitude to take when venturing into the world. Severin spent his first months away from home making little in the way of friends and plenty in the way of thoroughly baffled enemies.

When you meet his gaze, you’ll know, the wind chided as it whisked in and out of his hood.

“His?” Severin said aloud, lifting a single dark brow. “Do you know something I don’t?”

The wind whistled noncommittally in answer.

The wind did know something, as it turned out. At twenty, Severin stood on the warm, sun-loved planks of a dock. As gulls cried overhead, he pressed his fingers to his lips. The young sailor had touched his lips to Severin’s in a swift, carefree kiss before departing on the sea. And though the feeling was pleasant enough, Severin knew that his enemy-lover was not on the great ship cleaving a path through the cerulean waves.

“When I meet his gaze, I’ll know,” Severin said, golden eyes sweeping the horizon. The seaward breeze blustered in such agreement that the gulls overhead cried out in alarm.

What will you do? The wind asked, delighting in whipping the gulls into a proper frenzy.

“Get rid of him, of course,” Severin replied.

What if you don’t want to?

Severin thought that was the stupidest question he’d ever heard. “He’s going to stab me through the heart. Why in the world wouldn’t I want to get rid of him?”

People are foolish, the wind answered, shrugging the nearby sails.

“Not me.” Severin leaned on his stick and looked out at the sea. “I won’t let anyone get away with stabbing my heart.”

When he was twenty-two, Severin knelt at the bedside of a withered, wilting woman. She was a stranger, but the town’s herb witch was away, and Severin happened to be passing through. Though his true strength would always remain with the wind and the sky, the youngest of Severin’s two aunts had a special way with plants, and she’d taught him a fair bit about the many healing properties of the region’s hardy, windblown flora.

He boiled water, adding the few herbs he carried to make a rejuvenating tea. He helped the woman drink, his hand supporting her head and fingers tangling in her sweat drenched hair. After, he pressed a cool cloth to her head, and in the half dark room, she murmured, sharing delirious fears that she would accidentally speak cruel dying words and lay a curse upon him.

Kindly stroking her forehead, Severin assured her that he was not afraid of curses. Even uttered by the dying, a true curse was rarer than the superstitious soldier’s and barbarians liked to believe. Besides, she wasn’t going to die. Severin, who’d seen just enough of the world to have a taste of wisdom, was certain he could save her.

She died within the day.

Whether her condition had been beyond help, or Severin lacked the skills to twist the herbs to his bidding, he would never know. The wind rustled reassurances through the sparsely-leaved trees, but Severin was beyond consolation. Clouds gathered on the horizon, and by nightfall, great branches of lightning crackled across the sky.

He spent the next year and a half in the wilds. Beneath the jubilant light of the sun, he collected plants, acquainting himself with the earth. And beneath the soft, watchful light of the moon, he whispered to the wind and dared to wonder at the shape of his enemy-lover’s face. He could never seem to summon the slightest picture in his mind. Though it really didn’t matter, he supposed. Their eyes would meet, and Severin would know. And then he’d use all of the power at his disposal to send his enemy-lover away.

During this time, Severin sometimes saw bands of barbaric warriors crossing the plains. He kept his distance, but he doubted any of them were interested in either recruiting or killing a scrawny young man in a worn woolen cloak. Few he encountered ever suspected he had any great abilities, and Severin certainly didn’t go out of his way to advertise the fact that he could command the wind and sky when he wished. The barbaric companies had their eyes on more obviously lucrative targets, anyway. A handful of city states which spread across the great peninsula were openly at war with the barbaric tribes from the north.

It was when Severin was returning from his self-imposed isolation that he had his first real encounter with war. He held his sturdy walking stick in hand and carried a bursting bag of herbs, poultices, and leather-bound journals over his shoulder. Severin was so surprised by the sudden, brutal clash of metal and the primal cries that erupted nearby that he halted where he stood. His curiosity both outweighed and outlasted his fear, and after a minute or two of tense consideration, he pressed cautiously onward in the direction of the noise.

By the time he arrived, the battle was done.

It had surely been an ugly, bloody affair, if the splayed out bodies of the city soldiers and barbaric warriors were anything to judge it by. Holding a hand over his mouth, Severin gingerly navigated the carnage and valiantly resisted the impulse to be sick right there in the field. He was nearly on the other side of it when movement caught his eye. Squinting, almost afraid to look, he glanced from the corners of his eyes, sure that it was some grotesque remnant of warfare which awaited him.

Instead, it was a man.

Just a man.

The movement Severin had spotted was the rise and fall of his chest.

Only after turning a careful look around the terrible and silent battlefield did Severin approach the fallen man.

The barbarian’s eyes were closed and his pale brows drew together, as if reflecting pain. His face would probably have been handsome in a rough, simple sort of way if it weren’t smeared in dirt and blood. His light hair, braided and pulled away from his face, was bloodied as well, and Severin frowned at the sorry state of him. After a second wary look around, he knelt with a sigh.

The barbarian’s leather vest was cut, and his thick, scarred arms had earned several new slices as well. Severin, who had more than enough herbs and poultices on hand, reluctantly tore his only spare shirt into bandages. Within the hour the stranger was fully bandaged and muttering in fever addled sleep.

“Don’t worry,” Severin murmured, knotting the last makeshift bandage. “I’ve learned enough from the plants and trees to save you from both fever and infection.”

Behind closed lids, the barbarian’s eyes flitted anxiously to and fro and he mumbled something that sounded like no. Nose wrinkling, Severin leaned in. He heard the sleeping barbarian say, his voice low and cracking, “The curses will take me.”

Severin frowned down at him, unimpressed. “No they won’t,” he snapped, and yanked the bandage tighter.

The barbarian silenced then, and Severin stared at him a moment longer, pursing his lips in consternation. It wasn’t that he minded using his supplies to heal a stranger. But a part of him worried that healing a warrior made Severin responsible for whatever slaughter he resumed when he rose.

Severin abhorred warfare. It was such a terrible waste. But he supposed there was no helping what he’d already done. The barbarian was already on his way to recovery, and Severin certainly wasn’t going to murder him in his sleep. He reached out, intending to test the temperature at the man’s temple, but no sooner had Severin’s fingers touched his overheated skin than the world bled around him. In its place: a vision.

Shock echoed through him, because he was not like the women in his family, able to see phantoms in time. He’d always simply played with the air. The vision dancing before his gaze, however, didn’t seem to care.

Like droplets of ink spreading in water, a prism of colors twisted, threading together into nearly tangible shapes. From the chaos, rose a blond child holding a knit sheep. He was ruddy cheeked and pouting up at his mother. Then ink and water swirled and the images collapsed and shifted. Hulking shadows loomed over the child. The mother wailed her grief. The formless ink shivered, morphing from one scene to the next, nearly too quickly to follow, and Severin was swallowed up in it, overrun and overwhelmed by violence, blood, and pain. Beneath his fingers, Severin felt the movement of shifting, slipping thread.

Just as abruptly as it had started, the vision ceased. Severin’s knees ached where they pressed against the dirt and the barbarian’s skin beneath his hand was no longer overheated. How long had he been within the vision’s grasp, he wondered?

As Severin shifted back, the barbarian groaned. Severin watched as the man’s eyelids fluttered - and at once, the air turned heavy, as if the wind had drawn and held an anticipatory breath.

Dread flooded Severin and he rushed to stand. The barbarian had not yet opened his eyes, and Severin knew with a terrible nameless certainty that he must not be here when this man awoke. Severin could still feel those elusive, unknowable threads beneath his fingers, and his hands shook as he rose. Awakened by his urgency, the wind roared, lending him speed as he fled the clearing.

By the time the barbarian cracked open a single, world weary eye, Severin was long gone, heart still safely beating in his chest.

Severin endeavored to forget about the barbarian. He convinced himself that the vision had been the hallucination of an overexerted body, and that the sensation of inexorably moving threads beneath his fingers was nothing more than a flight of fancy. Severin did not think about how the threads had felt - certain and unyielding - beneath his fragile, very mortal hands. If he did, he feared he might ask the wind to whisk him away from the world altogether, and that, surely, was no way to live.

In a deep, secret place, however, Severin suspected the reason he was granted such a vision was because the stranger’s thread was woven perilously close to his own. Because of this, he set upon an easterly road, endeavoring to put a healthy distance between himself and the pale barbarian.

After nearly a month of travel, he arrived in a small village which sat nestled in foothills, tucked beneath the shadows of great mountains which stood like sentinels above. Severin hadn’t intended to stay, but when it was discovered he had some skill with plants and medicine, the villagers eagerly led him to a hut some distance from the village. It was empty, they explained, and had been for some years. A healing woman had occupied it, some years back, before she’d passed on. The villagers had been saving it, hoping the space would be enough to entice a new healer to make their isolated village a home.

Severin had nowhere else to go, and he supposed a distant, mountain village was as good a place as any to avoid a blade to the heart.

Two years passed, and Severin settled into his little hut. He spent his mornings taking long walks around the surrounding lands, collecting herbs and specimens. Returning home, he’d throw open the windows to allow his friend the wind a brief but wild rampage through the hut. With the air freshened, Severin spread plants across his square dining table and sorted them into jars to be sealed, dried, or preserved in vinegar. His neighbors in the village visited frequently, just as often for his company as for his medicines, and Severin delighted in visiting the town on market days and making the streamers dance in the wind for the children. Evenings were spent in his rocking chair, with a book in his lap and his feet pressed near to the low fire in the hearth.

He was happy, and hardly thought of the barbarian he’d found bleeding in the dirt. That is, until fate caught up with him.

One day, when he was foraging for moss on the hillside behind his hut, Severin felt the whisper-soft touch of thread against his palm. He sat upright at once, and turning and craning his neck, he absently rubbed his palms against his robes.

A company marched into the village. From up on Severin’s hill, they appeared a swarm of ants overtaking the miniature thatched roof homes. The slipping, shivering feeling beneath Severin’s palm intensified, and he stood. His heart drummed a frantic beat against his ribs, and Severin felt with a terrible certainty that fate, like a hunting hound on the scent, had sniffed him out at last.

When Severin called out, begging the wind’s help, it rushed to him, howling atop the hill.

I am here. I am here.

Cradled in the gale, he begged the wind to take him and hide him away, so that the tapestry’s relentless threads might cease dragging him toward the one he never wished to meet.

So be it, the wind said. If that is truly what you wish, I will take you and hide you away forever.

In that moment, nearly caught as he was, Severin was willing to do anything to avoid meeting this man who would kill him - until the screams rose from the pastures in the valley beneath his hut. Severin’s heartbeat was in his throat, on his very tongue, as he held up a hand to stay the wind.

“Just a moment,” he murmured, and turned bright, pained eyes toward the village. The terrified screams of his neighbors pierced him as surely as any blade, and with a mournful twist of his fingers, he bade the wind disperse.

By the time he reached in the pastures, the shepherd, the blacksmith, and Helvia’s two sons lay dead. At the sight of his friend’s bodies, grief and rage stirred within Severin, and the wind, always nearby to him, trembled in sympathy. Gaze sweeping the warriors, he marked the five whose weapons were stained red. Severin was not violent by nature, but if he was to die this day, he resolved to remove from the earth at least these five men, who with bloodied blades, uncaringly spoke of feasting upon the village’s few precious sheep.

When the warriors turned and finally noticed Severin, he lifted his chin and prayed his voice did not betray his fear. “These are simple people. They have little in way of money or goods. It wasn’t for nothing that the shepherd, blacksmith, and teenagers died. They need these sheep. And I cannot allow you to take them.”

The men glanced at one another, eyes filling with a cruel sort of mirth. They laughed at him, and Severin steeled himself for what must come next. He was friends with the wind, but to call down the heavens was an entirely more serious matter. And he’d never done it. At least, not like this.

Severin turned his palms up and glared at the heavens, daring them to refuse him now when he needed them most.

For a long, terrible moment, nothing happened.

And then, the skies erupted.

He had never felt pure, visceral power in such a way, and as it whined and crackled, Severin, with splayed fingers, used all of his strength to tear the lightning from its home in the sky. It rained upon the warriors, screaming in wild, untamable fury. Severin watched the men cry out in agony, and he felt horror and satisfaction in equal measure.

When a single figure broke from the group, agile enough to evade the lightning and charge across the field, Severin could only look on in exhausted realization. It was the pale barbarian. The man from the battlefield. The child in the vision.

The barbarian charged like a beast, his thickly braided hair bouncing. His brows were drawn down in focus and his lips poised on the precipice of a snarl. It was with a hopeless sense of finality that Severin met the stranger’s gaze.

He met eyes of icy gray, the color of hazy, snow capped mountains in winter, and Severin knew, he knew with a certainty that was sunken into his bones and twisted in his marrow, that this barbarian was the shadow which had haunted him. And he knew, more than anything, the crude blade in the man’s scarred-knuckle hand was fate’s exclamation point at the end of Severin’s ephemeral existence.

Watching as the barbarian pivoted, drawing back his blade, Severin only wished he understood why the women in his family had persisted in calling this man Severin’s truest love. If this was love, the man had a spectacularly terrible way of showing it.

Time slowed to a crawl, and sunlight flashed, reflecting off the blade. As the jagged edge touched the fabric of Severin’s robe, the wind whispered at his ear. Let me show you a piece of the picture.

The wind around him froze, and so too did the world.

Look up, said the wind, a rustle within his ear.

Severin did.

The complexly woven image was shaped by currents in the air - all but invisible to any whose eyes are untrained to look for them. But Severin had a born understanding of the wind and sky, and when he looked up, he saw bits and pieces of an impossibly complex tapestry.

He saw scarred knuckles gently shaping wood. A small child that sat upon broad shoulders. Rocking chairs placed side by side before a glowing fire. Warm hands enveloping his own. Safety. Home.

It was...everything, and Severin’s heart ached with a strange and complex longing for a future that surely could never be.

It’s not impossible, the wind whispered. But the threads will have to tangle and untangle just perfectly so.

“How?” Severin asked, and wondered if he was a fool to feel so desperate a pull towards this life glimpsed in impressions and half images.

The warrior must weep and repent. And a curse must come to fruition.

“And if these things do not happen?”

Then your soul will fade from the earth.

Severin felt torn in two.

The blade has not yet struck your heart, the wind murmured, kind and conspiratorial. There is time still for me to secret you away. I could pull your thread from the tapestry altogether.

“But there would be no hope for that life,” Severin said with a last wistful glance at the scattered mosaic above.

No, none, the wind agreed.

“Okay,” Severin whispered, “okay.” And it felt terrifyingly like surrender.

The wind stirred, and a breeze like a kiss tousled his dark hair.

The blade struck.

It was an intense pressure and then swift, vibrantly blooming pain. Severin wavered on his feet, and looked up. For the second time, he met the warrior’s gaze. And Severin saw and understood that there was no malice in those wintry eyes. Not even frustration or anger. But, instead, an exhaustion deeper than Severin could conceive.

When Severin toppled backward, it was concerning to realize he could no longer feel the grass beneath his body. The man knelt down, and Severin blinked tiredly up at him.

It seemed as though the man were waiting for something. Severin’s slipping mind struggled to think of what - until he recalled the dying woman and her talk of curses. And hadn’t the barbarian said something about curses when he was fever addled and hurt? What had the wind said? Severin was struggling to remember. As his life trickled away in red rivulets which stained the grass and soil, he thought of the boy in the vision - lost and afraid. And he thought of the man he’d become, kneeling stonily over him.

And Severin knew exactly which words should be his last.

Swallowing, he mustered the strength to whisper, “-my hut…it’s just past…the next hill over. In it, I keep medicines and herbs. For the villagers. And travelers who pass.”

For the barbarian would have to stay if he were ever to show remorse. He couldn’t very well continue going about fighting and murdering his way across the peninsula. Which brought Severin to his final words. It took all of his remaining strength to lift his hand. When he reached out, the barbarian startled, as though he expected more lightning to spring forth from Severin’s fingers. But Severin merely tapped his chest and smiled. “May you live a life of safety and peace.”

It was a fitting curse, he thought, feeling particularly clever. And there, on the field, surrounded by sheep, Severin’s heart stuttered and stopped.

It was an abrupt, slipping sensation, like losing your footing on iced over earth. Raw existence rushed around Severin, and he was battered and blown about, like a banner torn loose in the storm. This continued for a dizzying moment, or perhaps a dizzying eternity - Severin really had no way of knowing which. But it stopped when a familiar presence surged around him, blowing and blustering until the wild chaos of existence was forced to let him be.

The wind could not protect him forever, Severin knew, and so he focused his energies until, like a wind sprite, he swirled about the hillside. Below him, he saw the barbarian, his great head bent. Severin, as incorporeal as a breeze, could not resist blustering over the barbarian’s shoulder and observing himself, limp and pitiful in death. Whipping around, he beheld the barbarian - because surely this sight would bring him at least to the verge of tears.

The barbarian frowned down at Severin’s body and rubbed a scarred hand over the patches of stubble on his chin. And then he rose with a great sigh and set off down the hillside, away from Severin and the village.

Severin, who was nothing more than wind and spirit, watched him and despaired. He could do nothing more than whip and howl through the hills as his murderer left him without a backward glance.

Months passed.

Severin did not follow after the barbarian. What good would it do? In this form, it wasn’t as though Severin could speak to him. And if he was doomed to fade and dissolve from existence, he would much rather do so here in the hills he loved than in some strange land trailing after an even stranger man. The wind kept him company, at least, and Severin spent his days whistling through the black, porous stones at the base of the mountains and blowing bits of dandelions across wild tufts of grass.

One day, long after Severin had begun to feel more spread out and thin than was entirely comfortable, the wind rushed to him, carrying with it the scent of dust and dirt and faraway lands.

The barbarian had returned.

Severin was an icy breeze that whipped around the edges of town, and he watched with cool distrust as the man trudged through the streets. His shoulders were slumped and his blond head was turned down. He looked utterly defeated, and any sympathy Severin might have felt was eclipsed by petty spite. He didn’t hold any of the pettiness against himself, though. He was dead, and therefore felt he’d earned at least a little pettiness.

When the barbarian crossed the field, stopping to stand before the place where Severin had fallen, Severin swirled around him, newly curious. The man didn’t look grief stricken, but his face was difficult to read. There were dark shadows beneath his eyes and lines of exhaustion around his mouth. Mostly, Severin thought he just looked tired.

When the man approached Severin’s home after having ignored the invitation for months, Severin had a second moment of pettiness and whipped the wind up on the other side of the door, sealing it closed as the barbarian tried to open it. Only when the man shoved it with his great, muscled shoulder did Severin retreat, allowing the door to swing open.

It was with a strange sort of melancholy that he watched the barbarian’s silver gaze sweep over the room. The man looked first at the damp, unkempt hearth before slowly making his way across the room. He glanced from Severin’s well-loved walking stick to the bookshelf built into the wall. He fumblingly ran the backs of his fingers along the spines of the books, as if he was unlearned in the ways of a gentle touch.

Severin was still very much put out about the whole being dead business, but as he watched the barbarian’s almost reverent inspection, he unthinkingly twisted the air in the room, drawing out the cold and pulling in a bit of sun warmed breeze.

By the second day, the man was sitting in Severin’s chair. Severin stewed, swatting at floating dust by the window as his killer rocked to and fro in Severin’s favorite seat. Later, the barbarian stood, stretching his strong arms overhead and twisted his back experimentally. Brows lifting in pleasant surprise, he gave the chair an appreciative pat.

By the third day, Severin had no more dust to swat about. The barbarian had rolled up his ragged sleeves and set about scrubbing every inch of Severin’s little hut. When the hulking man worked open the stiff windows, the wind rushed in, delighting in whipping about the space once more.

He’s done a better job of cleaning than you ever did, the wind sang, slipping once more outside.

He was dead and that meant the wind had to be nice, and Severin told it as much. It’s reply was a soft rustling of chimes that hung from the house’s eaves, and the sound was almost like laughter.

Days passed, and the man began reading Severin’s books. This was probably the most surprising development yet, in Severin’s opinion. It wasn’t that he hadn’t thought the large, scarred warrior capable of reading, just - well, he hadn’t thought the large, scarred warrior capable of reading particularly well. But the man seemed to be doing just fine, and sat in Severin’s rocking chair, putting a far greater strain on the sturdy wood than Severin ever had, as he thumbed carefully through the book’s smooth pages.

When little Mykela took ill, Severin knew it well before anyone else. He’d taken a spin through town and as he rode the wintry wind past where she played in the yard, he’d felt the rattle of air in her lungs. But at this point, Severin was little more than a memory on the breeze, and though his worry was agony, he could do absolutely nothing. He spent the rest of the day roaring about the mountain peaks, sending snow flurries spilling down the far side of the cliffs.

Two days later, Severin was idly observing the barbarian, watching the crease between his brows twitch as he slept, when a great pounding broke out against the door. The barbarian rose at once, and Severin watched him cast a brief glance at the walking stick before turning instead to the candle on a nearby shelf. With warm light cupped in his palm, the barbarian approached the door.

When Dormund, Mykela’s father, entered the hut, carrying a limp mound of blankets, Severin felt a spike of icy terror. As the barbarian poked and prodded the fire, Severin carefully stirred the wind to better feed the flames. Severin would have shouted instructions, had he lungs to shout, but the barbarian already had two jars in hand. He held them up, looking a little lost, before he hurried to the bookshelf and selected a thick book. Muttering under his breath, he flipped hurriedly through pages until he found what he was looking for. And then he was kneeling before the pot of water he’d set over the fire, and Severin watched as he scooped careful measurements of Severin’s dried herbs into the roiling water.

Mykela was saved, and as the barbarian sent the girl and her father off with a bag of herbs, it occurred to Severin that he wished to know the barbarian’s name. He wouldn’t learn it until two days later, when Old Cara arrived at the hut, seeking the barbarian’s help for her arthritic knee. After supplying her with the appropriate poultice, the barbarian helped her to the door, and looking up, she patted his shoulder and asked him his name.

Eindred, was his answer.

Eindred.

Severin wished he had lips to test the shape of the name.

Months passed, and was easier now to watch Eindred move about Severin’s hut. In fact, Severin had even begun to enjoy riding the soft breeze from the windows as it wafted around Eindred’s shoulders, curiously observing whatever small thing he happened to, at any given time, be doing with his hands. One day, Severin was surprised to find Eindred’s hands at work, deliberately whittling the curved back of a rocking chair. When the chair was done, Eindred set it carefully, almost reverently beside the first. At the sight, Severin had a bright, nearly overwhelming flash of recognition, and he thought of the image the wind had shown him - of the rocking chairs before a warm, crackling fire.

Severin was fading, he could feel it. To hope was to court a greater disappointment than Severin could rightly comprehend, and yet - he watched Eindred set out with Severin’s walking stick to join the festival, and saw when Mykela took his hand. The barbarian’s stony expression softened, then melted as the girl tugged him after her.

It was the strangest of sensations, because while Severin didn’t strictly have a heart these days, watching the great Eindred meekly follow little Mykela made something in Severin’s incorporeal being ache with unexpected warmth.

Whatsmore, Eindred had been reading Severin’s journals and he would sometimes stop and stare about the hut, as if trying to picture the ghost of Severin’s life there. Once, Eindred draped a thick blanket over the back of one of the rocking chairs and ran his rough hands over it as he frowned contemplatively into the fire.

Summer had come and gone and Severin feared that parts of his soul had already begun to slip into that other-place. And so, with a tender sort of weariness, he drifted on the sunbeams cutting through the clean window glass, and watched with only mild annoyance as Eindred carefully tore a blank page from one of Severin’s journals.

Lips pressing together in focus, Eindred wrote in with small, precise letters, what appeared to be a list.

Confused, Severin drifted closer.

May your every loved one die screaming in pain.

I hope you die with your eyes stabbed out and your heart in your hands.

You will never know happiness.

Your existence will be suffering.

It was a list of curses, Severin realized. Morbid curses, by the looks of it. The last two, however, caught his attention.

May your greatest enemy rise from the grave and never leave you alone.

And,

May you live a life of safety and peace.

And Severin understood.

When Eindred set out from the hut, looking drawn but resolved, Severin began at once to gather his energy. It had been nearly a year since his death, and he feared that there might not be enough of him left to make a return. The second to last curse would help things along, but Severin knew it would be a mistake to rely on it.

And so, as Eindred entered the village, Severin stretched upward and out, calling wind and storm clouds with reckless, hopeful abandon. For his entire life, Severin had lived, certain in the knowledge that love and happiness were not meant for one such as he. How could they be? When a blade was foretold to make a home in his heart?

But Eindred had changed. And the patchwork pieces of tapestry were there, a life Severin had never dared to dream of, right there - if he could only summon the strength to reach out and grasp it.

Below, Eindred bowed his head before the townsfolk, confessing his part in the tragedy which played out on their soil. Above, Severin swallowed the skies and became the storm.

Severin felt it, distantly below, when the people in the village forgave Eindred. And he felt when Eindred’s bittersweet tears tickled the earth. He felt Eindred return to the hut, and then after pacing restlessly about, return at last to the pastures where it had all begun.

And then came Eindred’s pained voice, calling out from the fields below. “Severin!”

Eindred had never said his name before, and Severin, who was the clouds and the wind and the rain and the sky, rumbled his joy at the sound of it.

“It was my hand which ended your life,” Eindred continued. His deep voice was shaking. “And with your dying breath you gifted what I thought was a nightmare. Did you know that it would turn out to be a dream? I think you did.”

Just wait, Severin wanted to tell him, because he’d seen a future better still. The only question that remained was whether he had strength enough to reach it.

Rugged face upturned, Eindred called to Severin and the sky, which were one and the same. “Though it’s a dream, I’ll never know peace. How can I? When I live in the home of the one I so coldly murdered? I would leave, but the villagers have my heart - as they had yours. In this state, I don’t think I’ll ever truly know true rest or true peace - despite the great power of your curse.”

You will, Severin said, and lightning streaked across the sky. I will.

“Even now,” Eindred said, through wind and rain, “I’m not sure if you are my greatest enemy or ally.”

There it was.

His greatest enemy.

Severin, with every ounce of power he possessed, claimed the title. For he was the greatest enemy the old Eindred, warrior and killer, had faced. With his parting curse, Severin had forced the old Eindred to do the one thing he’d feared most of all: to live and face all he’d done.

Severin felt a rushing, coursing energy thrumming within and without and he knew that he must catch it and hold it, though he wasn’t sure how.

The tapestry threads, the wind whispered. Severin had spread so thin, his old friend was nearly a part of him now.

Severin listened, and felt for that thread which had teased and tickled his palm. And when he was sure he felt it, he wrapped himself around it and pulled. The sky around him screamed as he dragged himself forward toward something - something -

White light was all around him, and then it wasn’t. The air was cool and damp, and the evening sang with the wind’s gleeful gusts and the soft patter of rain on grass. Severin lifted a hand, and looked it over in tentatively blooming relief. Pressing the hand over his heart which beat with a strong, steady rhythm, Severin breathed a relieved, ragged sigh.

Eindred stood in the field, turned away from him. Drawing in a breath, Severin delighted in the sound of his own voice. “May your greatest enemy rise from the grave, Eindred, and never leave you alone.” He smiled as he spoke, and very nearly pressed his fingers to his lips to feel the shape they took when saying Eindred’s name.

Eindred turned. “So you are my greatest enemy then?” He sounded wary.

“I don’t think it’s so simple as that. Do you?”

Eindred’s expression shifted and he shook his head. When he next spoke, it was soft and fumbling, as if he still hadn’t fully adjusted to a world which was kind. “I made a chair,” he blurted out. “A few actually,” he added, rubbing a hand over the back of his head.

Severin wanted to say, I know. I saw. But that would require more explanation than he cared to give at the moment, so instead, he replied, “Do I get the new rocking chair or my old one?”

“Any,” Eindred stammered, “Either. Both?” He looked at Severin, and the earnest weight of his gaze held the promise of all the chairs Severin could want and anything else Eindred could possibly make with his scarred hands.

The fondness that bubbled up within Severin was so abrupt and filled him so thoroughly that he wanted to laugh with it. “Lucky for you, I only need one chair. You can keep the old one if you like it. I trust your craftsmanship.”

Severin turned then, because it was cold and every part of him felt so entirely bright and buoyant that he thought he might die if he didn’t move. However, when he realized Eindred was not following, he stopped. “Well? Are you coming?”

Eindred looked up, as if he’d been startled. “Where?” he called.

Standing there, sodden in the field, Eindred looked after Severin, as if he was afraid to hope - as Severin once had been afraid to do. And it occurred to Severin that Eindred would need to hear it said aloud.

“Home, of course. Where else?”

“Home,” Eindred repeated, as if confirming it to himself.

And when Severin turned again towards home, Eindred followed.

By the time they reached the hut, both were shivering from the cold, and as they crossed the threshold into the warm space, Severin swayed on his feet. He’d almost forgotten the immense power he’d used, and now the harsh ringing in his ears was a stark reminder. Warm, rough hands steadied him and when Severin tilted his head up, he saw that Eindred wore an expression of poorly concealed terror.

“I’m not going to die all over again,” Severin assured him. “I just used a lot of magic.” As he said it, he swayed once more, this time falling forward.

Eindred caught Severin again, one arm wrapped around his back and his other hand braced against his chest. Beneath where Eindred’s palm pressed, Severin’s heart thrummed. And Severin watched, curious, as Eindred’s expression twisted. He no longer claimed the title of warrior, Severin knew, but it was nonetheless with a warrior’s gravity that Eindred met Severin’s gaze.

“These hands will never again harm you. I swear it.”

“I know,” Severin replied, and pressed a hand over the back of Eindred’s rough knuckles. “Help me to a chair?”

Eindred did, and helped to remove Severin’s thick outer robe before Severin sank gratefully in front of the fire. Eindred left him a moment, and Severin closed his eyes.

He intended to just rest them for a second - maybe two, but when Severin next opened his eyes, the room was darker and he was draped and bundled in blankets, softer and thicker than any he recalled owning. The fire was still crackling, and the warm light made soothing shadows dance across the hut’s wooden floor. The other chair was occupied, Severin realized, and he watched as the hearth’s orange light played across Eindred’s sleeping features. Compared to Severin’s mountain of blankets, he had just one draped over his lap, though he didn’t seem cold. Nonetheless, Severin shifted a bit, and peeled a soft fleece blanket off his own pile to toss it onto him. The blanket fell short, and with a quick whispered word, the wind slipped under the door and flipped the offending blanket up onto Eindred’s chest.

“That’s better,” Severin said.

The wind played a little with the fire before tousling Severin’s hair and departing with a sibilant, save your strength foolish human. You’re still recovering, and slipped out the way it had come.

When Severin turned back to Eindred, he saw the large man was sitting up and his eyes were now open. Blinking, Eindred rubbed a hand over his face and then, stiffening in sudden shock, he whipped to look at Severin. Heaving a great sigh, he rocked back in the chair. “Still breathing,” he said.

“I don’t plan on stopping.”

Something almost like a smile twitched at Eindred’s lips and Severin was enchanted by it.

“You were dead and now you’re alive. Forgive me. I’m still trying to wrap my head around it.”

“You’re the one who believes in silly curses.”

Eindred’s brows rose. “Silly? Says the one who was brought back from the dead by one.”

Severin waved a dismissive hand. “The curse might have set the stage, but I was director, crew, and cast.”

And there was another smile, like a glimpse of sun between clouds. Severin was beginning to fear there might be no practical limit to the lengths he’d be willing to go to see another smile.

“I’ll take your word for it,” Eindred replied. “I get the feeling you know a great deal more about the world and magics than I.”

“Well Eindred,” Severin said, scooting his chair a little closer to both Eindred and the fire. “What do you know of grand tapestries?”

Eindred, looking more than a little lost, shook his head. “Nothing. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen one.”

“Well,” Severin said, and grinned. “What do you know of cheese?”

EDIT: A novel based on Eindred and the Witch and The Witch Who Spoke to the Wind is in progress! I will post news about it on my Tumblr and my Patreon as news becomes available :)

#my writing #original writing #my story #Eindred and the Witch #original story #fantasy #fantasy story #love story #eindred the warrior #severin the witch #writing #writeblr #short story #long short story #7000+ words #fantasy short story #amwriting #story

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pregnant-piggy · 3 years ago

Text

The Crow’s Nest

The Crows x reader

words: 12.1k

warnings: underage drinking, fire, character death, guns

A/N: am I slowly indoctrinating you with my pirate obsession? perhaps... ;) this is based on a dream I had while reading the first book and it wouldn’t leave me until I had written it. Let me know what you think of it! <3

translations (part real languages, part fictional):

Teufel -- devil

Fortell meg -- tell me

Jer elsker pe -- I love you

Faen -- fuck, damn

Goede morgen -- good morning

The grey waves hit against the hull of The Teufel, rocking the ship back and forth in the restless water. The howling wind creeped around every corner, finding even the warmest spots to cool the air and sparing no one from its breeze. The old sails fluttered in the force of the wind and loud slaps could be heard whenever the canvas hit against the mast. Little raindrops were falling from the sky, creating a layer of damp on everything in the open.

Thunder sounded far away in the sky, back in the open sea, but The Teufel was going the other way. Kerch was approaching steadily and if the winds didn’t turn suddenly, the ship would reach land before the sun had fully set.

The coastline of Ketterdam, the city The Teufel would arrive at, was peculiar with its high buildings and built-up streets. The lights of the city lit up the sky like an orange halo in the darkening heavens.

You leaned with two arms on the railing of the ship, watching the city approach over the water. Behind you the strongest members of the crew were working on the sails, steering the schooner into the right direction. You listened to the shouts and orders with half an ear, imagining what the city of Ketterdam would be like and where you would go after the ship had moored. Unlike many of the older ones in the crew you had never been to Kerch before. In the last two years The Teufel hadn’t gotten close to the island, finding enough profit near the coasts of Novyi Zem. Three weeks ago, however, the captain had ordered to turn the sails and head South, much to your delight.

Your entire life you had heard stories about Kerch. When you were very little, you had asked your grandmother over and over again to tell you about her trips to Ketterdam. Though you had been too young to understand most of what her stories meant, you had adored how your grandma was able to take you to a different world with her words only. It was a gift that you most admired and one that she had passed on to you.

Your parents passed away in a futile attempt to protect the town against the brutality of the land’s council. You had been just seven years old and the surviving neighbours hadn’t known what to do with you, so you had been sent to a boarding school in the countryside. Far away from the danger of the city they’d said, but you had known it was just to get rid of you. You had grown up in a strict environment, in a house full of stern teachers and meek children. But even there you hadn’t forgotten about your grandmother’s stories. Although the students thought you were odd, they would all gather around you in the sleeping hall after midnight when the teachers were to bed and you would tell them a story the same way your grandma had told them to you.

The older you had gotten the more trouble you’d seemed to cause. Obeying the rules had soon proven not to be something for you, at least not when you thought the rules were useless. With every year you’d grown older, you had found more ways to plant mischief. The punishments had gotten harder every time but you had refused to bend to their rules. Eventually they had been the one to give up and they had kicked you out of the school. At the age of fourteen you had been a homeless orphan only good for trouble.

For weeks you had travelled on your own and you had ended up at the harbour, where you had stumbled upon The Teufel. At first the captain had refused to take you on; he had no use for a child. It had been your talent to speak Kerch, Ravkan and a little bit of Fjerdan that had gotten you on board the ship that would become your new home.

For the past two years you had travelled along with the crew, learning to live on the ocean. Not a moment you had regretted your decision. The crew had accepted you as part of their family. The captain, Nerseh, had taken you on as his own daughter, learning you the tricks of maintaining a crew. Mayranoush, the quartermaster, was a strict woman who had at first scared you because she had seemed to be so much like your teachers at the boarding school. After a while you had gotten used to her, however, and it was from her that you had learnt how to shoot and how to read people’s faces like an open book. From the sailing master you learned how to read maps and the gunners had tried to teach you how to aim, but you had never mastered that skill. Stefan had taught you how to fight with a sword, Marina taught you the ropes and Hai learned you basic first aid and other cures that were necessary in combat.

In two years you had learned enough to make yourself useful on the ship and you had grown from just their translator to a valuable member of the crew. The Teufel was your home and you could not think of a better place for you.

“Are you excited?” Stefan stood next to you and followed your gaze to the skyline of Ketterdam.

You tore your eyes from the city and looked at the big blond man with his bright blue eyes. When you first stepped on the ship he was the first one of the crew to approach you and you had been surprised by the Fjerdan’s conviviality. Your teachers had always taught you that the people from Fjerda were cold and distant. But ten minutes spent in Stefan’s company proved all of that wrong. He had guided you in your first weeks and now he was your best friend, and your first friend.

“I am,” you nodded. “I’ve been dreaming about this place since I was a toddler. I can’t wait to see what it's like.”

Stefan smiled at you and leaned down on the railing next to you, his arm against yours. A warm feeling washed over you and sparkles shot through your upper body. The wind had died down to a light breeze and your hair wavered behind your neck as the wind blew directly into your face. A scent of smoke, burned sugar and oil filled your nose and you closed your eyes, taking in the smell and registering the different scents. This was the essence that your grandmother had talked about and now you were experiencing it yourself.

When you opened your eyes you noticed that Stefan was watching you intently. You smiled and raised one arm from the railing so you could turn to him. He wanted to say something to you, you could see it in his face. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” he stammered, his pale cheeks blossoming red immediately.

“Fortell meg, Fjerdan,” you ordered Stefan to tell you and, though you didn’t think it was possible, his cheeks got even redder.

The big, blushing man looked away from you and cleared his throat. His gaze was pointed at his feet and then he turned it to the horizon. The wind was playing with the blond curls of his hair, that looked golden in the light of the setting sun. He cleared his throat again and then he mumbled something.

“I can’t hear you, doofus,” you laughed and nudged your shoulder against Stefan’s arm. “A little louder, please.”

Stefan sighed and turned his head to look at you. He took a deep breath and placed his hand on your upper arm. The feeling of his warm hand on your bare arm made your heart flutter. Your lips parted and you sucked in a little breath.

“Jer elsker pe,” Stefan whispered. I love you.

Your heart stopped. The pulse in your chest disappeared for a moment and when your heart beat again, it did twice as hard. Stefan was no Heartrender but you were sure he could hear your heartbeat too.

“Stefan, I—” you started, taking Stefan’s other hand in yours.

However before you could go on, Captain Nerseh appeared from his hut and started shouting over the main deck. “Stefan! I need you up front!” Nerseh said and he walked to the forecastle deck, ordering the rest of the crew on his way. Stefan was still standing in front of you, your hands holding his but his face turned to the captain. This one turned around. “Now, please!”

The Fjerdan let go of you and hurried away, leaving you on your own. You held onto the railing for support as you felt your weight shift to your legs. All the excitement you had felt just mere minutes ago had now completely vanished and you looked around panicky. Not even a lifetime on sea could have prepared you for that.

-=-=-

The Jolly Roger was changed for a neutral flag with the colours of Novyi Zem and The Teufel navigated into the Fifth Harbour of Ketterdam. Once the anchor had been lowered and the ship lay still, a small party was sent out to get stock while the others were free to go wherever they wanted.

Stefan was sent with the quartermaster, Mayranoush, and Hai for food and ammunition and he was off the schooner before you could follow him. You watched him leave the Harbour, standing on the main deck. His blonde hair shone in the last rays of sunshine and he was visible for a long time, until his figure disappeared in the bigger crowd. Gone before you could talk to him.

“I want y'all back at twelve bells,” Captain Nerseh said and he waved the rest of the crew off.

Hesitantly you walked off The Teufel onto the docks. The first few steps were wobbly and uneven, as it had been a few weeks since you had last walked on land, but after shaking your feet and legs, you got used to walking again. Those familiar tingles, that you always got when walking on shore after so long on sea, shot through your legs and you were filled with a mix of anxiety and excitement.

Here on land the scent was even stronger, luring you into the streets. You glanced back at The Teufel over your shoulder and shrugged off the uneasy feeling you got at the thought of leaving your home behind in the harbour. Pulling up your boots a little, you turned away and stepped into the city, finally experiencing what you had dreamed of for so long.

The streets of Ketterdam were unlike any other place you had ever been. Big crowds of tourists and inhabitants were moving as one through the small streets of the Lid. Men, women and children all walked through each other, barely taking notice of the persons passing them. The lights coming through the shop windows casted yellow and white shapes on the cobblestoned ground, with which the shadows of the people danced.

You followed the crowd into the buzzing parts of town, falling in step with the other tourists. Many years ago your grandmother had told you that the Lid was filled with gambling houses and it was the place where the most tourists stuck around. And indeed, as you walked on the crowd gradually got thinner with people leaving right and left to fall into the temptation of the colourful buildings decorated with bright lights. Faint music combined with the loud chatter of people in all languages hung in the salty air, like a blanket that was thrown over this part of the city.

However, all that you could think of was Stefan’s face and his words. Jer elsker pe. In a haze you walked through the busy streets, hearing Stefan’s voice over and over in your head. His touch was imprinted on your skin, the place where his hand had been was burning hot on your arm.

You had known, that was the worst part. For a few weeks you had known. You had sensed it whenever he was looking at you or when he was touching you. The look on his face was different from before. There had been a softness on the Fjerdan’s face that hadn’t been there before. A weakness. It was an undeliberate thought, but it made its way in your mind anyway. If the past ten years of your life had taught you one thing it was that you had to hide your weaknesses. From enemies and friends.

It had been a particular hot night at the boarding school and you hadn’t been able to sleep. That day a new girl had arrived at the school and she’d sat down next to you at breakfast. Many of the others had scowled at her but she had ignored them and instead introduced herself as Lotty. It was the first time that someone had voluntarily come to you and the rest of the day you had spent getting Lotty familiar with the school and its surroundings.

You’d heard the girl stirring next to you and padded over to her. Upon seeing your face, a smile had spread on Lotty’s face and you had whispered: “Want to get out of here?”

Very cautiously you and Lotty had left the sleeping hall and on your toes you had run through the empty corridors of the school building. All the teachers had been asleep already and the big clock in the hall had showed that it was two hours after midnight.

The front door had opened with a small squeak and the dark night air had welcomed you and Lotty outside. The gardens of the boarding school surrounded the entire building with grass, flowers and low bushes. A sweet, humid scent had hung in the air, the result of the sun that had shone on the flowers all day.

You and Lotty had sat down in the middle of a flower bed and you had told her about everything. For the first time in your life you’d felt like you had a friend and you had trusted her with some of the secrets you knew about the school’s building. For hours you two had sat outside, until the sun had started to rise and the petals of the flowers had started to collect the morning humidity. As you had gotten up, you’d put your hand on the ground to push yourself up and you felt something crawl under your palm. You had squealed and stumbled back quickly, staring in disgust at the place where you had put your hand. There on the ground a thick spider had quickly crawled away under the flowers.

Lotty’d started to laugh and you had scolded her. Spiders had always scared you and no matter how much you’d tried to get over it, whenever you saw one you couldn’t help but shudder.

Back at the sleeping hall you had fallen into a restless sleep for the last few hours, dreaming of a thousand legs and jaws. When you’d woken up, Lotty hadn’t been there and at breakfast she had sat with the other children, not with you.

The next morning you had woken up with something crawling up your arm and the sound of laughter.

And now Stefan had shown you his weakness. Though you would never use it against him like Lotty had done to you, there was something that bothered you now you knew his weakness. What if unintentionally you would cause him trouble or danger?

“Watch where you’re going!” a man sneered and he roughly pushed past you.

You shook your head out of your thoughts and looked around. The bright gambling dens had been replaced by small, tall and crooked houses made by all different sorts of bricks and wooden beams for support. The streets were still busy but this was a different crowd. People with comical masks and cloaks moved in little groups, quickly and rushed, as if they were afraid someone would stop them. A few people wore gaudy suits and moved proudly over the streets, their hands in their pockets. The others wore more ragged clothes in dark colours and they walked with their heads down to the ground.

You were in the Barrel, undoubtedly. The gambling houses were still there, but more scattered. Still they weren’t much different from the ones on the Lid; a lot of dramatic lightning and flashing colours, all so that the most people would come in.

The East Stave was on your left. You had refused ever to step foot near the brothels on the West Stave. The horrid stories that your grandmother had told you had already been enough to keep you away and the rumours you had heard from the crew on The Teufel had only added to that.

Your legs were getting tired from walking so much and the unnerving thoughts were still whirling through your head. On The Teufel you would have searched for Stefan and gotten drunk with him hidden somewhere on the deck, but Stefan wasn’t here and The Teufel was far back in the harbour. So instead you searched for the least ostentatious building and eventually settled on a gambling club called the Crow Club.

A silver crow hung over the entrance of the club and you looked up to it as you walked under it, entering the building. You stepped into a big hall that was parted in two by a lowered floor in the back. The black lacquered walls had no windows and all sense of night and day was lost as soon as you stepped inside. The little clock around your neck told you it was little after ten bells. That meant that you had one hour and a half before you had to go back.

You sat on one of the crimson stools at the bar and ordered a drink from the man behind it. He eyed you for a moment and you noticed he was contemplating whether to give someone your age a drink, but he seemed to decide that profit is profit and poured you a drink. You watched him while he worked for a moment. He was not as old as you had thought him to be. The only wrinkles in his face were near the corners of his mouth and the cracks next to his eyes. His skin was dark bronze and his hair pitch black, almost like the walls around him. And what he lacked in height he seemed to be making up in strength, as his arms were muscular and he looked strong enough to throw a man twice his size out of the place.

The drink burned in your throat, but you threw it all in anyway. For a moment your gullet was on fire and the next moment it was gone. The years among a group of adult pirates had learned you how to take your drinks.

You asked the bartender for another and you didn’t miss the surprise on his face, but turned the other way, looking at the parlor around you. Most of the tables in the lower part of the room were occupied by a variety of people. In the left corner of the room sat a couple, their feet entangled under the table, but their eyes fanatically looking at the other.

At a table closer to you sat a woman in a bright red dress with feathers in her hair. From your place you could see the cards in her hand and if you stretched your neck a little you could also see the cards of her neighbour. The table was playing Ridderspel, a simple card game played with the lower numbers of the cards. It was a game to make little money quickly and one of the most played card games in gambling houses everywhere.

The woman had two sevens, an eight and a four of the crow-marked cards in her hand and she pushed forward four little red chips when the dealer asked to place the bets. Her neighbour pushed forward two grey chips and the man opposite of her one grey and one red one. The dealer collected the chips and stacked them in the middle of the table.

On The Teufel you had played many games of Ridderspel with the crew. However, after a while they had banned you from playing games for money. It hadn’t taken long for you to see connections between the faces of people and their cards. You could see a pattern in the order they played their cards and knew after showing the first card of the game who would win.

It had started with Ridderspel. One dark night under the light of a lantern you had been playing the game with Stefan and two others of the crew, Vinay and Cilka, when you had noticed that whenever Cilka got her cards the lightest frown would form on her face if she didn’t get good cards. It was invisible to anyone else, but you saw how her eyebrows would twitch shortly. You knew that everyone had their tells, some more obvious than others, but after that night you had searched the others’ signs. Vinay’s shoulders would slump a little if he had bad cards and Stefan’s eyes would flicker shortly over the table if his cards were good.

After you had learned their signs, you’d noticed that there was a pattern in the way they played their cards. If they had bad cards, they played the highest first, hoping to at least get a little out of the game. If they had good cards, they would hold their highest cards for the end, but they wouldn’t play their lowest card first either. It was a complicated strategy, a difficult trick on your mind, but after months of examining the game, both playing and from afar, you found the pattern. From there on it wasn’t difficult to find the patterns in other games and soon you were banned from playing games on the entire ship.

However, whenever you were on land and there was a gambling house in the city, the crew would often ask you if you could just play some games so they could get some money. You knew that with you playing at the table the game wasn’t fair anymore, but you would do it night after night if that meant you could do something for your crew.

Now, you knew that the woman in red had a good chance of winning the game. She tapped her fingers on her thigh and kept staring at her cards. So much for a bluffing face. The dealer asked to play the first card and the woman threw one of her sevens on the table. Not the highest and not the lowest. Her neighbours answered by throwing an eight and a five.

The next round was played and now the woman played her four, receiving another eight and a seven. She is playing out her opponents. If they wanted to win, they would have to change the course, but you feared it was already too late for them. The woman threw her eight on the table and the others a seven and a five. The last card was played and at her seven, the woman got a six and a four.

As the dealer started to count the points you turned away; you didn’t need to count the points to know that the woman in the red dress had won the game.

“Another one, please,” you said to the barman in Kerch and he nodded at you. Curiosity could be read off his face even by those who didn’t have your talent of understanding facial expressions.

When he gave you your glass his eyes lingered on your clothes and you realised how idiotic you must look in this environment. Though the people in the hall weren’t all wearing evening dresses or three-piece suits, you knew that someone in a black jacket and leather boots to their knees would stand out. Consciously you stroke a hand over the braids in your hair and looked at the bartender.

“Don’t worry,” he said as he noticed your looks. “Many tourists come dressed up.”

You tilted your head to the side and hesitated telling him the truth. Figuring there wouldn’t come much trouble from doing so, you sat up and shook your head. “These are my normal clothes.”

The barkeeper cocked an eyebrow and then went on with cleaning the glasses. You stared at the brown liquid in your glass before you knocked it back and softly placed your glass back on the bar. The movement caught the attention of the man behind the bar and he lifted the bottle, silently asking if you wanted another one.

“Sure,” you answered and pushed your glass forward.

The way the man filled the glass reminded you of how Stefan used to fill your glass. While you preferred to drink straight from the bottle, he would always insist on taking glasses from the galley.

“We can at least pretend we’re fancy,” he’d say, as you were hidden in the shadows of the back of the ship.

A faint smile played on your lips as you thought back of Stefan, but your inside burned as you heard his last words back in your head. Jer elsker pe. The truth was that you weren’t quite sure if you loved Stefan back. He had always been close to you and you appreciated him being such a good friend to you, but you didn’t love him the way he loved you. At least, that’s what you thought. You had never really experienced love before, so how could you know what it felt like?

“Maybe you should slow on those,” the bartender said as you placed yet another empty glass on the bar.

“No,” you rasped, fighting the burn in your throat. “I’ve had worse.”

“I can stop giving you, y’know?” the man said as you lifted your glass again for another.

“And not get paid? You wouldn’t.”

The barkeeper laughed and poured you another glass. This time you didn’t immediately drink it all, but you turned around on your stool and looked at the biggest table on the floor. It was an oval-shaped table, lined with the same crimson of the seat you were sitting on, and around it sat seven people. Dice lay in the middle of the table, surrounded by grey, black and red chips and a stack of cards.

Even in the noise of the other tables and people walking between them, the conversations at the big table were clear.

“You’re bluffing!” the man on the right shouted. He was big in all aspects someone could be big. The hems of his trousers were too high up his legs and the sleeves of his jacket were too short. The golden buttons of his blouse were about to burst and his hat kept sliding off his head because it didn’t fit well. His appearance was only mimicked more by his dark red cheeks and the little drops of sweat that were rolling down his face.

“Am not,” the lanky, dark brown man on the other side of the table said. He had a wicked grin on his handsome face and seemed to be in his element. His feet were lying on the edge of the table and he held his cards loosely in his hand, like they were to fall any moment.

“How could you—? You don’t— No one—” the big man started and the colour drained from his face. You had missed what the beginning of the conversation was, but surely it was not something the big man wanted to come out.

“Maybe you should try to keep such information to yourself,” the tall guy said. “Now, are you in or out?”

The surrounding men at the table nervously shifted in their seats as they looked at the big man. He patted his head with a silk handkerchief and stared at his cards for a moment. A new set of sweat seemed to pour over his forehead and eventually he threw his cards open on the table. ‘I’m out.’

The man got up from the table and he hurried away, followed by the other five men. They walked past you in a queue outside and when they were all gone, the guy at the table smiled pleased.

“He was bluffing,” you noted, after taking a quick glance at the cards that were lying open on the table.

“What?” the barman asked, who had watched the play with you, and you were reminded that you were not alone.

A warm rush spread in your cheeks and you turned your head to the bartender. “That guy was bluffing to scare the man away.”

The man squeezed his eyes at you and said a little too late: “Why’d you think that?”

“Look at the cards on the table,” you said and peered back at the big table. “That man on the left had two of the highest and the person two seats from him had another. I can’t see the cards on this side of the table, but whatever they are, this guy can never have enough to win.”

The barman looked at you for a few seconds. “How do you know?”

You looked out over the hall, scanning the games on other tables. “You learn things,” you shrugged and then nodded to a little table closer by. “See that guy? How he is glancing between his cards and the dealer’s hands?” The barkeeper leaned forward over the bar and looked at where you were pointing. “He has good cards and is trying not to let anyone notice it.”

The man leaned back from the bar and filled your glass without you even asking. He rested one hand on the bar and looked at you. “Where did you learn that?”

“Well, you have to do something on a ship,” you said, swirling the drink. “Eventually staring at the stars all night gets a bit boring.”

The barman snorted laughingly. “You’re from a ship?” Then he looked at your outfit again and he nodded. “Now that makes a lot more sense,” he mumbled. “When did you arrive?”

“About an hour ago,” you answered and pulled the clock from your blouse.

Meanwhile, the handsome guy from the big table walked to the bar and he greeted the bartender as he sat down one seat away from you. You looked at him from the corner of your eye and stopped at the guns on his hips. The clock lowered without you realising and you gave up on trying to hide your stare.

The two pearl-handled guns shone in the light from above and you shook your head in disbelief. Zemini-made revolvers were rare, and you would know. You had heard stories about them from your mates on The Teufel, but none of them had ever even had one in their hands. Only Nerseh in his younger years had owned one, but he had lost it in a battle. The Zemini guns were feared among your crew and there were two of them right next to you now.

“See anything you like, darling?” the guy asked and your eyes shot from his revolvers to his face. He had that same mischievous smile on his lips and there was a glimmer in his eyes as he raised his eyebrow at you.

“Those are pretty rare guns,” you said, ignoring the guy’s suggestive tone.

He took one of the revolvers from the holster and let it twirl in his fingers. Though you didn’t want to, you felt a shiver run down your spine at the ease with which the boy handled his guns. You had gotten quite familiar with your own guns, but you had yet to learn that.

The boy must have seen your googling eyes because he smiled a bit more real now and said: “I know, Zemini-made. You don’t find that very oft—”

“Faen!” you interrupted in Fjerdan, using the word that you had heard Stefan say so often. You had looked at your watch and realised that it was much later than you had thought it was. It was already a quarter till midnight and it would take you at least twenty minutes to get back to the harbour. You jumped from your seat, threw some coins on the bar and straightened your coat, mumbling: “Stupid windowless walls…”

Without sparing another look at the two guys you left behind you stormed out of the Crow Club into the street. Rain was pouring down from the sky and you shivered at the sudden cold. For a second you looked around and scanned your surroundings and then you hurried off in the direction you had come from.

People passed you in a blur of colours and shadows as you ran over the streets, desperately trying to find a way back to the harbour. The captain wouldn’t appreciate you being late and it would most likely cause you a night scrubbing the deck on a night you actually had been free. But perhaps Stefan would accompany you.

Your mind automatically seemed to find a way to think of your best friend. The situation in the gambling hall had taken your mind off him for a minute but now your logical senses were numbed by the alcohol the Fjerdan was back again. Stefan could’ve easily found his way back. The boy could find a route almost everywhere, even in a place you had never been before. He would just follow the direction of the sun or look at the leaves on a tree and know where you were.

But Stefan wasn’t there to guide you back. He was probably already back at The Teufel, waiting impatiently on you.

Every alley looked the same and all the gambling houses had the same flashy lights. You didn’t know if you were moving forward or just running in circles. Somewhere above in the sky you heard the twelve bells that told you you had to be back already. With the feeling you had passed the house on the corner of the street three times before, you ran on, ignoring the protesting people if you ran into them. You almost fell over your own feet and nearly stumbled into a girl dressed all in dark clothes.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, pushing away from her softly but when you turned around to her she was nowhere to be seen on the street. You were too much in a hurry to worry about that and ran on, sighing in relief when you saw the fluorescent lights from the Lid.

The Lid was filled with more people than the Barrel you ran from and it was harder to manage a way through. You pushed and threw yourself between people, growing a little nauseous from the smell of so many bodies together combined with the smells that came from the kitchens around. As you hurried through the tourists, your breath was high in your throat and you could feel your heart beating in your head. Heavy breaths fell over your lips but you refused to take a moment to rest.

The glittery lanes were soon exchanged for the dark open space of the harbour. The cobblestones echoed the sounds of your footsteps as you ran. People shot you weird looks as you raced past them.

The closer you came to where The Teufel lay, the busier it became, but instead of searching for a reason you just hoped that you could still make it past them. However, the crowd became too big for you to run as fast as you had and you slowed your pace slightly. You zigzagged between people and pushed them aside, getting various insults thrown at your head. As you came closer to the inner circle of the crowd, you realised that they weren’t just randomly standing there; they were standing around The Teufel.

You stopped running completely and approached the busiest part of the crowd at walking pace. Now you weren’t focusing on your own thoughts you heard that the people were all muttering and talking with each other—and that the people closer to the water were screaming and shouting.

The few people that stood in between you and your destination you pushed aside softly and the closer you got the more you felt a strange heat on your face. When the woman in front of you stepped aside, your jaw dropped.

There, in the water, right where it had been when you left earlier this night, lay The Teufel completely in flames. Not a single part of the main deck had been spared, flames were reaching high up in the sky, eating the masts like a monstrous creature. Thick dark grey clouds hung above the ship in the dark blue night sky. The flames curled around the hull of The Teufel, like a devil claiming its prey. Wooden walls collapsed, iron melted and ropes caught fire, sending the flames up to destroy the crow’s nest.

Among the chaos on the shore and the sound of the fire, all you could think about was one thing. My family. The shouting and cackling couldn’t drown out the screams of terror that came from the belly of the ship. Cries for help, prayers to all gods and saints. Your crew was in there. Your people were inside of a burning ship. Your friends and family. They were all trapped.

It could have been you. If you hadn’t lost track of time, you would’ve been there with them. You would have arrived before the twelve bells, gone inside with the others and would be trapped in there now. It could have been you, but instead it was your crew. And you didn’t know what was worse.

There was nothing you could do. No way to run on the ship and free your mates without catching fire yourself. No way to stop that fire that was capturing The Teufel. No human could do it, no grisha either. This was more than an accidental fire, this was controlled. Don’t fight a bigger power without knowing its weaknesses. It was a phrase your father would say to you whenever you had been mad at the world as a child. The advice he had ignored before he had gone to fight his way into death. You didn’t know what the fire’s weaknesses were, if there were any weaknesses at all. All you could do was stand on the shore with your hands clasped over your chest and your eyes stuck on what had once been The Teufel. What had once been your home.

The screams of the crew were engraving themselves in your mind, cutting you open and leaving deep wounds. The last bit of your hope had been left behind on that ship and was now burning away, leaving nothing but a hollow chest.

Time passed by as you stood on the shore, watching the last remains of your home falling apart. You didn’t look away when the fire burst through the portholes in the hull of the ship and you didn’t flinch as you heard the last sounds you would ever hear from your crewmates. You took it all in, soaked your mind in the pain, feeling the shock and terror making place for fury. One day, you promised yourself. One day you would find a way to get revenge.

You knew that in a city like this news would spread fast. Surely before sunrise all the people in Ketterdam would know of the ship that had burned away in Fifth Harbour. You wouldn’t be safe; not from the questions of the people and not from whoever had done this. You were sure that they wouldn’t be too keen on having missed someone from the crew before they blew it up. Chances were big that, if anyone ever found out that you had belonged to The Teufel, your days would be numbered.

Fortunately you hadn’t told anyone you were part of The Teufel’s crew. Anyone but the barman at the Crow Club. You hadn’t literally told him, but you were sure he could put two and two together.

Once the fire had been settled and the ashes of the wood were only still smoldering, you straightened your back. You would find the barman and ask him not to tell anyone. Or perhaps you would find your ending in the streets of the Barrel. The Teufel had been your home for two years, but it was time to get moving.

-=-=-

The Crow Club stood proudly in front of you. Rain was running down your face, following the lines of your neck into your blouse. You were cold and your entire body was shaking but you knew that was more from the shock than the rain. In the back of your head you still heard the screams but you tried to block them out as you stepped to the gambling house.

As you walked closer to the entrance, a boy stepped in front of the door, blocking your way. He was huge with arms full of tattoos and a mouth full of crooked teeth, some of them missing, and when you approached him you realised he was watching you. He expected me. This guy had been waiting for you, he had known that you would come back. How could he?

Hesitating you went forward. You had already seen the gun on his belt and you were quite sure if you turned around and walked away he wouldn’t be afraid to use it. In front of the boy you stopped and leaned to the side to look inside the building.

“I’m sorry, could I go inside?” you asked, your voice mellow and innocent. “I would really like to warm up a little.”

The man just tilted his head to the side and his lips turned into a stupid grin. His hand rested casually on his gun, though you knew that all his moves had been precisely calculated. Whether by himself or someone’s orders was your next guess.

“You better follow me,” the boy said and his eyes glassily looked at you.

“Do I have a choice then?”

“No.” The man took his gun from his belt and easily pointed it to your chest. If he shot now he wouldn’t kill you, just harm you. So he wants me alive.

“Fine, fine,” you mumbled and lifted your arms in the air to show you were defenceless.

The guy roughly pushed you away from the door and held the barrel to your back as he led you away from the Crow Club.

You weren’t sure why the boy didn’t just put a bullet through your head. If he was part of whoever had burned down The Teufel, why would he want you to stay alive? The rest had been murdered mercilessly, what did they have in mind for you?

However, if he wasn’t not part of the fire, why did he want to have you at all? You couldn’t think of anything you had done wrong or of any danger you could be. You were pretty much just a harmless teen in a strange city.

The man pushed you through the street and over a bridge. You made a few turns into small alleys and streets, passing houses in all shapes and kinds. Behind some windows flickered a soft light, others were dark. You heard screaming from one house and music from the house next to it. Laughter of children and cursing from adults.

You stopped in front of a house that looked exactly like all the others; crippled and on the brink of collapse. The guy held his gun to you as he kicked open the door and then pressed the barrel deeper in your back to make you walk. Slowly you passed over the threshold and stood still in the hall of the house.

Much different from what you had expected, the inside of the house was not damaged like the outside. While the colours and construction did look old, the house was built to survive for longer than just a few years.

“Up,” the man mumbled and he nodded to the stairs.

You followed his order and headed up the stairs, feeling your legs ache from all the walking on land you had done in the past hours. Though you got used quite fast to the difference, a sudden change from sea to shore did have its effects on your body. Especially if you crossed an entire city twice in one night.

The staircase led to a landing with many doors. The house wasn’t particularly big and with that many doors, you figured the rooms must be small. You wondered what this house was used for. It almost had the feeling of a hostel, but there wouldn’t be many guests if putting a gun to someone’s head was their way of advertising.

“That room,” said the guy and he gestured at one of the doors in the corridor.

The wooden planks creaked under the weight of your body. The door of the room was closed and the man with the gun knocked on it with much more restraint than you expected from someone who had just abducted you from the streets.

It was silent for a moment as you and the man waited for the door to open. Your heart was beating in your throat and you swallowed deeply. Nerves were running through your body, sending tingles down to your fingertips.

The door opened and before you had time to look inside, the guy pushed you inside and closed the door again behind you. You were inside a small room, with a bed, a chair and a closet that put half the room in shadows. On the wall opposite of the door was a little window, showing the side of another building that stood next to the house. The window reminded you of the portholes inside the hold of a ship, your least favourite place as there was very little light.

However, the room didn’t have much space in your mind as your attention was caught by the person in the room. He could not be much older than you yet it felt like this boy had more character than an old man. His face was hidden in the shadows but you could make out the hard lines framed by sleek black hair. His eyes shone like emeralds under his dark brows and there was a malicious glance in them when they rested on you.

“Sit,” he spoke and the rock salt rasp of his voice sent shivers down your spine. “Please.”

You sat down on the simple wooden chair in the middle of the room, though you rather would’ve kept standing. The boy was towering over you now, standing in front of you, leaning on his cane. Your eyes slid to the silver handle under his gloved hands. It had the shape of a crow’s head.

“Who are you?” you asked, trying to calm the nerves you felt rushing through you. You weren’t necessarily afraid of the boy, but you also couldn’t deny the unease in your body.

The boy cocked his head to the side and the smallest wicked grin played on his lips. “An hour ago a ship was set ablaze in Fifth Harbour,” the boy said and you looked away from his stern gaze. “The Teufel. A rather bold way of naming a ship, after the devil, isn’t it? Nothing is left of The Teufel, no plank, no crewmate. Or at least, so is said. That is why you are here, not y/n?”

Your head snapped up to the boy and your eyes narrowed at him. “You know my name?”

“I know lots, y/n, and your name happens to be on that list,” the boy said and it was a little harder for him to hide his smirk. He’s enjoying it, you realised in disbelief. This is what he’s trained for. “I also know that you are the only living crewmate and that you visited my club this evening.”

“Your club?” You frowned—he seemed way too young to have a successful gambling club.

“Yes, my club,” the boy repeated and he shifted his weight, letting a sigh fall from his lips. “You sat at the bar and ordered more drinks in two hours than an average adult would in four hours.”

You looked back at your feet. You knew you had trouble staying away from the drinks, but that didn’t make it any nicer when someone pointed it out. At sea it had never really mattered—the others had drunk with you and as long as you did your duties successfully the captain didn’t care if you were sober or not.

“You spoke with no one and just watched the games, until my barman got some information out of you,” the boy went on and you felt his gaze on you. “He said you were able to determine the outcome of the game after just the first card was played.”

“So?” you shrugged. Surely that was not why the boy had gotten you there and it was definitely not something that was on your mind right now. All you could think of were the screams and the longer you sat in the dark room, the more cramped it became.

“Can you?”

“I don’t see how—”

“Answer the question.” His voice was hard and cold, but laced with curiosity that he failed to hide from you.

“I guess I can, yes.”

The boy stayed silent for a while and the tension in the room reached for your throat. You had never been one for small rooms, that’s why you had chosen for the sea. And now the anxiety of all that had happened that night was piling up on your chest, like someone pressing down on you. The walls were closing in on you, leaving you gasping for breath. Your clothes were still wet and your hair stuck to your forehead and neck, but you were no longer cold.

You clenched your hands around the fabric of your blouse, feeling it crumple between your fingers. But even in your panicked state you could see the change in demeanor in the boy. He planned this. He had known this would happen, he had deliberately put you in this room, knowing what it would do to you.

“What do you want from me?” you breathed, looking up to meet his eyes, and then added with an intensity you didn’t know was in you: “Did you kill them?”

The hard expression on the boy’s face fell for a moment as he looked at you. For a minute he turned into a boy his age, someone with a soul. “I promise you I didn’t kill them. I had nothing to do with the fire.” Then he straightened his back and slammed his cane on the floor, pulling himself out of the moment. “I have business. We’ll continue in the morning.”

The boy limped to the door and the cane suddenly made more sense. He pulled the door open and stepped through it when you interrupted him.

“Who are you?”

He looked over his shoulder and casted a dark glance at your figure. You had stood up from your chair and were still holding onto the back for balance. There was an expression on his face that you couldn’t read and you feared that it wouldn’t be the last time that happened.

“Kaz Brekker. Nice to make your acquaintance.”

-=-=-

The mattress you were lying on was lumpy and hard, forcing your back to straighten in a way it never had to. The blanket was itchy and heavy and pressed hard on your chest, not allowing you to take deep breaths.

You were shifting in and out of sleep, unable to tell reality from imagination. One moment you were staring at the dark ceiling above you, the next you were sitting alone in the hold of The Teufel. The room around you moved in front of your eyes, the shadows dancing on the walls. In the ship, water slowly rose around you. You tried to get up, tried to run away, but it was as if you were glued to the floor. Unable to move you sat waiting for the rising water to reach for your throat.

Something moved in the room. It was a flicker of a shadow in the corner of your eye but enough for you to notice. You forced your eyes open, but the water was rising so quickly it was impossible for you to focus on anything else. The water level was at your jaw now. You took a final breath and the shadow in the room moved again. Closing your eyes against the water, it rose above your nose.

Then there was more movement. The shadow was coming closer to you, moving with the grace of a cloud.

Feeling the water on your face, you opened your eyes and shot up in the bed. The water disappeared and you were in the dark room again, shaking and coughing. Yet the threat wasn’t gone; the shadow was still in the corner.

You shifted to the side and rested your back against the cold wall, looking at the shadow in anticipation. While your heart was beating in your throat, you calmly looked ahead of you until the shadow moved from the corner.

“How did you see me?” the shadow asked and you shrugged.

“You move like a spider.” And I’m afraid of spiders.

Out of the shadows stepped a young girl, hidden in a flowy cloak that moved along with her. The lack of light threw a veil over the room, covering it with a black and white filter, but still you could make out the brown skin of the girl and her almost black eyes, that were staring right at you.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, though it would be no surprise if the girl had something to do with your meeting with Brekker a few hours ago.

“Look,” the girl said and she moved to sit next to you on the bed. You caught a shimmer of something near her wrists, but when you looked at her she was wearing a light smile. “This isn’t the worst place to end up. You have walked through these streets; you know where you could have ended.”

You thought back of earlier this evening when you were walking through the roads of the Barrel for the first time. The girl was right; if you hadn’t been brought to where you were now you could have turned into the colourless types that you had seen or, worse, you could have ended up in one of the brothels.

“Kaz doesn’t just take anyone in,” the girl continued. “He must think you have some use, or he would have left you on the streets.”

You snorted; that wasn’t exactly a much better prospect.

The girl must have guessed your thought because she chuckled shortly. “I know it does not seem like it now, but trust me—this is the right place to be.”

Silence filled the room for a minute as you thought about the girl’s words. Instinct told you that you could trust her, and that her trust once lost, was lost forever. There were so many questions you wanted to ask her but you were afraid of the answers. You preferred mystery over knowledge right now.

The shadow girl was looking at you with pity on her face, like she felt bad for your situation. There was sympathy behind her eyes and compassion in her touch as she placed her hand shortly over yours, giving it the lightest squeeze.

“What’s your name?” you asked, your throat tightening at the threat of tears.

The girl stared at you for a second and then she gave you a smile. “Inej,” she said. “But you might hear of me as the Wraith.”

Inej got up from her place on the bed and walked to the door. Her cloak fluttered behind her through the air as she walked, falling against her legs when she halted. She turned around to you. “Kaz will send someone to get you in the morning.”

“What will happen?”

“I don’t know what he has planned,” Inej sighed. “But I advise you to go along with it, or it might be the last you’ll do.”

She shot you a final smile and left the room silently. The shadow disappeared as quietly as it had come.

-=-=-

You didn’t know if you had slept at all. Undoubtedly you had dozed off for a while, but for most of the night you had just lain on your back staring at the stains on the ceiling above you. When the morning sun had brightened your room, the hope that it might all be a dream had disappeared when reality came in crashing hard.

The clothes you had worn last night had dried from the rain, but they no longer brought the comfort they used to. Here wearing those clothes meant that you stood out; you couldn’t blend in. When the same guy as last night had knocked on your door and ordered you to follow him you had left your jacket behind, deciding that the rest of your outfit was conspicuous enough on its own.

Last night in the dark the house had been silent, but now you heard noise everywhere. There were many more doors than you had thought and behind every one lay a secret. The house seemed bigger now it was light. Although there was no direct sunlight in the corridors you could sense that it was day. Last night you had felt mystery as you had walked through the corridors but now it felt more like the boarding school you had gone to with all the whispers.

“Where are we going?” you asked the boy who had brought you to this house.

“Crow Club,” he grumbled and then kept silent.

You walked the same route you had last night, but now the streets were deserted and the houses quiet. The Barrel was the part of Ketterdam that lived at night.

The big, silver crow that hung above the entrance of the Crow Club like a guardian quickly came to your sight and you shivered lightly. Entering that club was what had gotten you in this situation and you feared you would only get deeper in this mess when you entered again.

However, the big guy behind you left you no choice and before you even had time to think he had already pushed you over the threshold.

Stumbling inside you were greeted by the same black, windowless walls and the same stuffed scent. The crimson stools at the bar were unoccupied but the tables on the gambling floor were played on, despite the early hours. Games of Ridderspel and Spijker were in full motion as you were led through a door on the side of the room.

“Close the door behind you, Pim,” a voice from the shadows said and the boy who had led you there, apparently named Pim, closed the door.

You looked at the strange scene in front of you. You hadn’t known what to expect but it sure wasn’t a gambling parlor. There was one big table in the middle of the room and around it stood eight chairs. Only one of the chairs was occupied and with a jolt you recognised the boy from the Zemeni guns.

“Goede morgen,” he smiled at you as he leaned back in his chair. “Care for a game?”

“What?” You stood rooted to the ground, staring in confusion at the guy at the table.

From the shadows on the side of the room Kaz Brekker stepped. The loud, rhythmic thud from his cane on the floor was the only sound in the room as he walked to the table. He stopped in the middle and looked up at you with his hard cold gaze.

“Play a game,” he said, resting his two hands on the crow head of his cane.

“I don’t understand,” you tried.

“It’s easy,” Brekker said. “You said you were good at card games, right? So prove it—play a game with Jesper.”

Jesper, the boy at the table, flashed his smile full of white teeth at you and raised his eyebrows. It felt like a trap, but you couldn’t forget what Inej had said to you that night. I advise you to go along with it, or it might be the last you’ll do. An invitation to a game wouldn’t be your end.

Behind you Pim stepped closer to you and put his hand on your shoulder to push you forward. Within a second you had turned around and taken hold of his arm, twisting it dangerously close to breaking. The boy looked at you with somewhat of fright on his face and there was a little wave of triumph in your stomach. The emotions of the situation got the better of you and your heart was racing as you felt the anger rushing through your veins.

“Don’t touch me,” you hissed through gritted teeth and pushed his arm a little further. “Understand?”

Pim’s eyes flashed to the two people behind you and he recollected himself. He pulled his arm from your grip and stepped back to the door, avoiding your eyes and looking gruffly ahead.

You turned around and found Jesper looking at you in awe and even Brekker couldn’t hide his surprise. Then you nodded at the two men and took a seat on the opposite side of the table. “Let’s play then.”

Brekker nodded approvingly and shuffled the cards with his gloved hands. Your eyes were glued to the smooth movement of the crows imprinted cards. They slid through the fingers of the pale black-haired smoothly like water.

“I assume you know Ridderspel?” the gloved dealer asked as he placed four cards in front of you on the table.

“Of course,” you said, watching Jesper intently as this one got his cards.

Because everything in the situation was new for you, it would take you two or three rounds before you would get used to the game. All, from the cards and chairs to your opponent and the dealer, was unfamiliar to you and combining that with the pressure of supposably your life on the line only made it easier to overlook things.

Therefore you had to pay extra attention, and mostly to Jesper. His easygoing attitude and big smile were dangerous tricks that could throw you off without any difficulty but you wouldn’t fall for them. You were looking for little things that would give him away, like the slightest falter of his smile, a tiny frown or nervous twitch.

Jesper picked up his cards and you watched him from the corner of your eyes as you pretended to look at your own cards. For this round however those wouldn’t really matter. First you had to find Jesper’s tell. That you might lose and give him confidence was only an additional benefit; people made more mistakes when they’re blinded by the price.

At first nothing seemed to happen. Jesper kept the same smirk on his face and played the round with nonchalance, taking all but one pair in the game. Triumphantly he leaned his chair back on two chair legs and stacked his chips in front of him.

“Don’t worry love, you’ll get it later,” he said, giving you a wink.

You shot him a sweet smile back and took the new cards off the table. After one look you had them memorised and you looked at Jesper. He was looking at his cards with sparkles in his eyes, but yet again it was no different than before.

Silently you cursed yourself. Last night he had seemed so open and easy to read, but you realised now that there were many more layers to the guy with the pearl-handled revolvers.

Again you lost the game, now with all your cards being lost to Jesper. His pile of red chips was building and yours was only getting lower. You looked at your chips. If you didn’t win soon the game would be over and you’d lose, and you didn’t want to think what consequences that had.

The third game were the last cards of the deck before it was shuffled again. Your hand was to your benefit with no card lower than six. You knew there weren’t many high cards, if any at all, left in the game since Jesper had beaten you with high numbers every time. That meant that he would have low cards and now was the perfect time to watch his reaction.

You took a new approach to finding his tell. Instead of focusing on his facial expressions, that he proved to have under control, you now concentrated on his body language. His shoulders hung relaxed and his arms were resting on the edge of the table. Though you couldn’t see his legs under the table, you knew they weren’t standing neatly on the ground but were instead crossed or at least moving. Nothing in his posture gave him away.

Until it did. It was a flash of a second, if you’d blinked you wouldn't have seen it. For a fraction of time Jesper’s shoulders fell and his arms stiffened. No one else in the room noticed it, but your senses became hypersensitive.

Then, when you looked at his face, you saw more. His smirk wasn’t genuine anymore and the sparkles in his eyes weren’t as bright as before. It were minuscule changes, but big messages to you.

“I raise,” you spoke calmly and you pushed forward the last of your chips. It was all or nothing.

You saw Brekker raising his eyebrow in the corner of your eye, but you were focused on Jesper. His brows furrowed a little and he pushed forward the same amount. Though he had chips left, if you won this round you would have much more than he, meaning you won this game.

“Let’s play,” you grinned and opened with your six, your lowest card, but still a rather high card.

Jesper’s card would be crucial. If he had higher than a six, he would play that and you wouldn’t win the game. If he had a six, he would play that one and the cards would be evened out, but you would know that the six was his highest card. If he played anything lower than a six it would mean that you had won the game, for no one would lose a round on purpose and play a lower card when they had a higher one.

Expectantly you looked at Jesper. His smirk had gone and made place for a frown as he looked at the card on the table. His joyful bluffing face was nowhere to be seen and a sigh fell from his lips when he realised his defeat. He threw a five on the table and sunk back in his chair.

With a grin on your face you played the rest of the round and won all Jesper’s cards. At the end of the game, you rested your chin on your folded hands and smiled at Jesper. “You know what?” you started and Jesper looked up at you. “I think I got it.”

-=-=-

Kaz and Jesper had left the room after the game and Pim was standing on the outside of the door, making sure no one would get in. They had not said a word to you when they left and now you were alone in the silent gambling parlor. At least, that’s what they wanted you to believe.

“Inej,” you said. “Come out please.”

No matter how focused you had been on the game, you hadn’t missed the little shadow sneaking inside near the end. And you hadn’t missed how Brekker’s eyes had shifted to one particular corner while he was watching your game with Jesper.

The girl appeared from the shadow and silently walked over to you, giving you a small smile. “How did you know I was here?”

“Because you wanted to be seen,” you simply said and by the way her eyes widened you knew you were right. “I don’t really know you, but I have the feeling you can be really invisible if you want. Me seeing you is not a coincidence or special talent of mine. You wanted me to see you.”

Inej chuckled softly and shook her head. “How do you do that? Knowing what I feel by just looking at me?”

You smiled and shrugged. “I had a tutor,” you said. “Mayranoush was her name. She taught me how to know people before they even see you.”

The memory of The Teufel’s quartermaster hurt. The weird situation you were in had taken your mind off the loss for a moment, but now there was nothing to distract you the pain came double as hard.

You thought of your crew and how much you already missed them. Captain Nerseh and his brusque manners but warm heart; Marina and her cheerfulness; Vinay, who was the only one who still had wanted to play games with you. You missed them all so much and you couldn’t believe that they weren’t there anymore.

But the one you missed the most was Stefan. He had been your best friend for the past two years, you had spent every day together and never had you thought you’d have to say goodbye. You thought of his last words to you. Back then you hadn’t known what to say, but now as you were sitting there without him you knew that you loved him too. But it was too late.

“Jer elsker pe,” you whispered to yourself.

“What?” Inej asked and you looked up. You had forgotten she was sitting next to you, so silent she was.

“Nothing,” you mumbled and then turned to her. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, sure,” Inej answered and she smiled at you.

“Have you ever loved someone?”

Inej’s eyes flickered to the door Kaz had just left through and then she looked at you in silence for a minute. “No,” she said finally. “Never loved like that. Why?”

You stared at the upholstered table in front of you and swallowed away the pain in your throat. “I just… It hurts so much. Everyone always says that love is the most beautiful thing in the world, but no one ever mentions the pain…”

“Maybe the pain makes you appreciate it more,” Inej said. “Often we don’t see what we have until it’s gone.”

A tear rolled down your cheek and you shook your head. Inej was right; you hadn’t known you loved Stefan until he was gone. But that didn’t matter anymore. There was no way you could get the Fjerdan back and you wouldn’t turn into a mess trying to find one. You would keep your love for him deep in your heart until it was nothing more than a memory.

“Life’s not fair,” you said and you wiped the tears from your face. “But I’ll get my even.”

“How?” Inej asked and you turned to her.

“I will find who burned down my home and I will destroy them to the ground they’re standing on.”

“I suggest you find help for that,” the cold voice of Kaz Brekker said.

You looked to your side to meet Kaz and Jesper. Pim was standing inside of the room again, still avoiding your eyes when you looked at him. Jesper was watching you with a smirk and he winked at you when he caught your eyes.

Finally you turned to Brekker, who was looking at you with a peculiar expression. There was something playing around his lips that you would almost call a smile and his eyes had lost the ice cold gaze.

“Who do you suggest?” you asked, looking up at Kaz.

He shrugged half and said, before he walked away: “I have some connections.”

Pim and he disappeared behind the door and you were left dumbfounded with Inej and Jesper. The latter placed his hand on your shoulder and chuckled. You looked between him and Inej and raised an eyebrow. “What just happened?”

“I think you just became a member of the Dregs.”

- - - - -

special thanks to @awritingtree for the support and encouragement <3

there’s no taglist yet, but let me know if youw ant to be added to the SoC-taglist!

MASTERLIST

#six of crows #six of crows imagine #crows x reader #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker imagine #inej ghafa x reader #inej ghafa imagine #jesper fahey x reader #jesper fahey imagine #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #jesper fahey #soc #six of crows x reader #the crows x reader #crows imagine #the crows

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ladydimitrescuspet · 4 years ago

Text

Catch You Later

AO3 link - word challenge: pineapple

Lady Dimitrescu put two fingers under your chin and lifted your head, slightly straining your neck so you could look up at her. "Do you remember the safe word, my dear?" Lady Dimitrescu.

You frowned slightly. What did you need a safe word for? "Yes, I remember the safe word, My Lady." You replied with a small nod of your head when she removed her fingers.

"Good. You understand that if you say the safe word, fail to escape my maze within the given time frame, or get caught by one of my daughters or myself that you will be my pet, yes?" Lady Dimitrescu asked.

You raised your eyebrow. "I thought I was already your pet, Mistress." Lady Dimitrescu hummed at the already known knowledge but didn't say anything. "And what happens if I do escape?" You asked.

"You are free to leave this castle, this village, Romania, but on the one condition that you never return here under any circumstances. Far be it for me to catch you twice, but if Heisenberg, Moreau, or Beneviento were to get their hands on you, you wouldn't last past a night or two there. You were lucky to survive as long as you did here, sweet one." Lady Dimitrescu replied, but she didn't give you time to comment. "This map will help navigate you through the maze, make sure you pay close attention to it. My daughters and I will keep our abilities to a minimum to give you a fair chance in this little game."

You grimaced at the thought of this being their idea of a game. "When do we start?" You asked as you took the map from her hand. Lady Dimitrescu just motioned for you to turn around and you obeyed, albeit hesitantly. You stiffened a little as you felt a piece of fabric cover your eyes, but relaxed when you realised it was just a blindfold. "I guess this means it starts now." You mumbled to yourself eliciting a small chuckle from Lady Dimitrescu.

You felt the Lady pick you up. "Hold on tightly, dear, wouldn't want you to fall and get hurt before the fun begins." You grimaced again and barely had time to wrap your arms around her neck before it felt like you were flying but you chalked it down to her moving at an unnatural pace. It only lasted a few minutes before you felt her stop, your head was spinning a bit. "You're probably feeling a bit dizzy. I'm going to set you down and I want you to count to ten before removing the blindfold and beginning, understand?" You nodded your head. "Good girl. You'll have a half-hour head start and then you'll want to keep your ears alarmed at any and every sound. You're allowed to hide, but don't stay in one spot too long. And, darling, if you need to use the safe word then don't be afraid to say it. Best of luck to you, pet." Lady Dimitrescu patted the top of your head and then you felt her presence disappear.

You let out a sigh as you counted to ten and removed the blindfold. It was kind of dark outside, but not to the point where you couldn't see. You looked at the map and noticed something, it moved. "Great." You mumbled. You waited until it was finished rearranging, you noticed that only a few spots changed whereas the rest stayed in the same spot. You determined that you'd been brought to the centre of the garden maze. "Okay, so I go left first and then right three times before going straight." You did what you told yourself but came to a dead end. You frowned and looked at the map, it had changed.

You heard something behind you and turned around, but nothing was there. They shouldn't be out here yet, it hadn't been a half hour. You turned around a quickly made various turns, finding different shortcuts throughout the maze until you came to a spot that felt familiar. It was the entrance, but it was blocked off which meant that the entrance had moved to a different spot. You kept going until you came across a puzzle. Did you need to solve the puzzle to escape?

The puzzle wasn't hard you realised as you looked over it. You just needed to put the House's coat of arms in the right places to represent Dimitrescu, Heisenberg, Beneviento, and Moreau. You had seen the different coat of arms before and remembered the tapestry in Lady Dimitrescu's sitting room that had each of the House's on it so you relied on your memory when you put them in their places. You let out a sigh of relief when you heard a click and look to your side to see something open, it held a cloak in it. Put me on if you want to be invisible was on a note that you found in front of it. It had been good timing because you could hear footsteps getting closer to you. You quickly put the coat of arms back in the places you found them and slipped the cloak on and hiding behind a nearby statue as Lady Dimitrescu came into view.

"Hmm, it seems like my little one hasn't cracked this one yet, girls." Lady Dimitrescu said as she walked over to the pieces and inspected them before putting them in their places. She let out a soft gasp when she noticed that the cloak inside the secret space was gone. "So, you did come this way, little one. Girls, spread out, my little darling is somewhere close by. I'll head to the next place and keep a lookout there. You musn't let them escape this maze." Lady Dimitrescu practically growled at her daughters before they headed in three separate directions. You let out a deep breath as Lady Dimitrescu began to walk away only to remember her mentioning the next place you needed to go so you quietly followed her, hiding where you could when you saw her stop and check her surroundings, looking for anything that looked complacent with an invisibility cloak, you realised you had to be even more careful whilst wearing it. "Oh, dearest Y/N, where are you hiding?" You heard Lady Dimitrescu call out, but remained quiet as she came upon another puzzle.

You saw her arrange the puzzle in a way that completed it, but she did it in a position where you could only see part of the puzzle. It looked like a keypad of some sort, more modern than anything you'd seen in the village or the castle. You saw her walk away when she saw that you hadn't gotten there yet and followed where she went with your eyes until she rounded a corner of the maze. You waited a few moments before carefully making your way over to the puzzle but not standing directly in front of it, just close enough where you could see the keypad.

You squinted as you tried to read, it was in Romanian. Great, just great. You knew the language, but you didn't speak it often. "Ai prefera?" You read to yourself. That meant Would you rather? so that was the game this time, okay. You looked up to the corner where Lady Dimitrescu had gone around and noticed a shadow, it was her shadow. Now that wasn't fair. She was waiting on you to solve the puzzle so she could catch you. You grinned as an idea came to your mind. You'd play the game, but you would wait for her to come out. You continued to read the rest of the next question. "Cel mai sălbatic vis sau cel mai rău coșmar al tău?" Why would you need to choose between your wildest dream or your worst nightmare? How would it even know those about you? Shaking off your questions, you made a choice, you obviously wanted your wildest dream so you chose your worst nightmare and the secret space opened up. It was a bottle with a note that said Drink me if you'd like to see the world from a different height, you raised your eyebrow, that could only mean getting taller. You looked up, the shadow hadn't moved yet so you reached into the pocket of your jacket and switched the bottle out with it before allowing the space to close with a slightly loud thud. That caught the attention of the shadow and you saw it began to move so you quickly got the other space opened to find another bottle with a note that said the same thing as the other bottle, switching the bottle out with whatever else you had in your pocket and left it to close as you found a place to hide.

You saw Lady Dimitrescu finally round the corner with a grin on her face. You could tell that she knew that you took both bottles by the fact that she didn't even check each hidden space to see if they were still there. "I'd be careful about getting those two bottles if I were you, Y/N." Lady Dimitrescu said loud enough that you were sure even her daughters heard the warning. You watched her walk back the way she came when you followed her. There goes your plan of following her to all the other puzzles and games. You checked your watched to see how much time you had left, you had one hour left to escape.

You were sure Lady Dimitrescu wasn't going to come back so you made your way over to where she had been hiding and noticed something on the ground. It was a note. "You're very smart, Y/N, following me here, but what you do not know is that it was a trap. I know you've taken both bottles, I gave you a warning, it's best to heed it. As for the trap, well, I'll let you figure it out yourself. Yours truly, Lady D." She wrote all of that while standing here. You heard a laugh and stood still as Daniela, one of her daughters.

"Mother! Your little one has your letter, what shall we do?" You heard her asked.

"My, my, maybe my pet isn't as smart as I thought. You know what to do, Daniela, no need for me to tell you once more." Lady Dimitrescu replied before shooing her daughter away. "Turn around." Lady Dimitrescu said and you realised that she was talking to you so you obeyed. "Cloak off, now." You took the cloak off.

You sighed. "I guess you win. Should I say pineapple or just let you grab me?" You asked.

Lady Dimitrescu shook her head. "Neither, I'm having fun." Lady Dimitrescu smiled wide enough to show her fangs. "Run, Y/N, and don't let me catch you."

You scratched your head. "Can I get the cloak back?" You asked. She handed it to you. "Don't worry, it wouldn't be fair if I wore it the whole game, my love." You replied.

"I see you learned from last time. A tip for you, my dear, Victoria and Elise are hanging around the next stop, so tread lightly and watch the map, it's important." She said. You smiled at her and she smiled back at you. "You may actually win this time, my darling." You rolled your eyes. You weren't going to win, no matter how many times you almost made it out, you always ended in someone's grasp or yelling out pineapples to end the game.

"I'll catch you later, Alci." You replied as you turned around from her. You smiled as you heard her say that that was her line. "It's not your line if I say it first." You heard her chuckle and turned around to find her gone. Probably making her way to the entrance, wherever it may be, to try and hinder you from escaping. Even if you did win you'd never leave Castle Dimitrescu, it was your home and Alcina and her daughters were your family for the rest of time.

#lady dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu x reader #resident evil #resident evil 8 #resident evil village

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clandonnachaidh · 3 years ago

Text

Light Across The Seas That Sever (Ch4)

AO3

When he woke the next morning in Amsterdam, his feeling of utter contentment quickly gave way to dread as his hand eagerly searched the space in the bed beside him only to find it empty. Immediately, his eyes snapped opened and he looked around the room for her, for his Claire.

His heart sank at the sight.

The twin bed that she had slept in for the night prior to the one they shared was made, her suitcase gone from its spot by the door. He stumbled as he got out of bed, his limbs not quite awake yet as he burst through the bathroom door and he noticed that her things were gone. It was as if she’d never been there.

If not for the taste of her still on his lips, he’d have wondered if he’d dreamt the whole thing.

He spun around the room in a flurry, unsure of what he was looking for or what he planned on doing once he found it.

Then his eyes fell on the slip of paper that sat on the windowsill, the sun casting its rays down on her pen strokes.

I can’t bring myself to wake you. I have to catch my flight. I’ll let you know when I land in Boston.

Jamie’s heart clenched in his chest and he used the palm of his hand to rub at his sternum without thought. He knew that she was gone. He cursed himself for being such a deep sleeper, wished that he’d had the awareness to know that she had been moving around the room silently, packing her things to leave. But in the afterglow of their love making, having released tension and anticipation that had been building inside of him for years, sleep had taken him down and down until he was oblivious to the world. The last thing he remembered was the ghost of her fingertips on his cheekbone and his jaw as he whispered to her once in his mother tongue, the language of his heart that he knew she didn’t understand but hoped that she could feel the meaning of, before falling into a deep sleep.

“Mo ghaol ort, mo Sorcha.”

He had to find her, had to make her understand that he loved her and had loved her since the moment he saw her. Scrambling into the same clothes from the day before, he tore out of the hotel, not caring that they’d charge him for another night when he would inevitably miss check-out. He rushed to the train station and bought a direct ticket to Schiphol, his shaking fingers calling her repeatedly and his heart falling every time it went to her voicemail.

He left his third message, laying his heart out for her to hear, “Claire, please just answer the phone. Talk to me. I winna ask ye to do anything ye dinna want to do but I have to say it, Claire. And I refuse to say it on your bloody voicemail so answer yer phone, tell me where ye are. I’m on my way to the airport. I’m coming to find you.”

Once he arrived, he pushed his way past the crowds of holiday goers, businessmen in their suits and parents trying to corral their children into order. Suddenly thankful for the view that his height gifted him, he searched frantically for any sign of her. He’d found her flight on the departures board and raced to the terminal, praying to God that something had delayed her and she hadn’t had time to make it through security yet. The panic bubbled in his chest as he began to breathe heavily, black dots appearing in his vision. It took everything in him not to simply start shouting her name in the hope that it would bring her to him.

A furious hysteria was beginning to claw its way into his nervous system, controlling the frantic jerks of his long limbs that felt too heavy for him to carry. He dialled her number again and was astonished when she answered.

“Jamie,” she whispered and he felt his heart shatter at the pain in her voice. “Oh, my Jamie.”

“Claire, where are ye? What were ye thinking running off without saying goodbye?” His voice sounded desperate and angry as he spun on the spot, knowing that the compass in his heart that always navigated him to her side would point him in the right direction. Still, his eyes weren’t able to land on her. “Damn it, Claire, tell me where ye are!”

He heard her let out a sob.

“I’m at my gate. You won’t be able to get through.”

Unable to remain upright at her confession, he slumped against the wall beside him and let his head hang, releasing tears that he had been keeping at bay from the moment he had realised that she had left. He cried with her, not caring if people saw.

“Why did ye do this?”

“I couldn’t stand to say goodbye.”

“Claire, I lo-“

“Don’t,” she cried softly, only speaking when he went to say it again. “I’m begging you, don’t say it. If you care for me at all, don’t make this harder.”

He restrained himself from driving his fist into the cement and pushed his forehead against it as his fingers gripped his phone tighter in his hand.

“I canna believe ye weren’t going to say goodbye,” he whispered with a voice full of hurt and not devoid of anger. “Do ye regret it? Last night?”

Her answer came out in a burst, “No. No, I don’t regret it. But you’re my friend. My best friend and with everything changing… I’m going to need my best friend.”

“Yer being selfish, Claire. To give me hope last night and then to pull it out from underneath me, to leave me wi’out breath,” the words were spilling out of him, not caring if he hurt her. She had hurt him well enough.

“Jamie, I thought-“

“No, ye didna think at all. Only of yerself getting to have a wee bit of fun before running off and settling down a whole fuckin’ ocean away.”

With a man who’s not me, he thought.

The line went quiet apart from the gentle sound of her crying and the odd ragged breath that he drew into his lungs to try and settle his racing mind. He screwed his eyes shut and banged his head lightly against the wall.

“Claire, forgive me, I- fuck, I just dinna ken what tae do.”

“They’re calling my gate, I have to go,” she whispered.

“Please, I didna mean it, I was sore and said more than I meant,” he desperately tried to explain himself.

“I’ll let you know when I land. Goodbye Jamie.”

“Claire—”

When she hung up the phone, he sat on the floor and went to pieces. An hour passed before he was able to bring himself together enough to make his way back to the hotel, gather his things and get his own flight back home. With one look at him, standing on the steps of Lallybroch with the spirit of a broken man, Jenny set her mouth in a straight line. In a feat that would’ve astounded Jamie had he the energy to care, she kept her words to herself and brought him a bottle of whisky as he sat in front of the fireplace, somehow managing to keep her children from pestering their uncle. He spent days moping around the estate, barely speaking a word but she made sure that he knew that when he did want to talk, Jenny Murray would be there to listen.

It was two weeks after Claire had left that Jamie heard from her. It was early evening and he had just punished himself with a 10km run around Lallybroch’s grounds, thinking that if his muscles were screaming in pain then he might get some distraction from the dull ache that had set up shop in his chest. The minute he stepped into the hot stream of the shower, his phone pinged with a message. How he would kick himself afterwards that he hadn’t given it a cursory glance because when he exited the bathroom ten minutes later, he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him when he saw it.

Sassenach: Message

He opened it greedily, desperate to receive any sort of contact since the painful last phone call that would play on a loop in his mind every night as he lay in bed, sleep evading him.

It was a picture of a bouquet of flowers, a huge arrangement made of foliage and sea holly, thistles and white calla lilies that he knew were her favourite. He’d spent more time than he’d like to admit picking out the perfect flowers for her and knew exactly which bottle of whisky to put in with it (the one that they’d drank together the night that he’d teased her that she had no friends before she replied with a blinding smile and said the words ‘I have you’). She had photographed them prettily displayed on a windowsill that was drenched in sunlight. Underneath she had simply written the words ’Thank you!’ and he realised that he had forgotten that he’d even arranged for the gift to be sent. It was meant be a moving in present, a little reminder of home and the people that she’d left. Now it seemed sad and it made Jamie and his bruised ego feel a bit pathetic.

But it was a start, a small plaster on the gaping hole that was their friendship but one that he was determined to improve on. Anything to keep her in his life, in whatever capacity. He replied to her message with hopes of her having had an easy move, asking whether she was settled in yet. Claire replied almost instantly and so begun the back and forth, both of them trying to be painfully normal as Jamie paced in his bedroom, naked as the day he was born and dripping water all over the floorboards.

When he slipped on a puddle of his own making, he chucked his phone back onto the bed and set to rummaging amongst the old clothing in his drawers in an attempt to find something clean. He really needed to help out around the house more, he thought. Jenny had been rushing around after a husband, two children and now her brother and she deserved better. He had started to deal with the pile of unwashed material that had accumulated on the floor by his bed when he heard his phone ring.

Without even looking, he accepted the call.

“Aye?”

“Hi! It’s Claire!”

As if she needed to tell him that. The minute that he heard her voice he felt like he could breathe that little bit easier for the first time since being in that fucking airport, the gentle lilt of her English accent making him picture the shapes that her lips made. The memory of it stabbed him in the gut and he took a calming breath, turning from his discomfort into the humour that they both teased each other with.

“Sorry whoever ye are, I dinna ken anyone with a Boston accent, ye must hae the wrong number.”

“Asshole,” she snorted. “I sound exactly the same as I always have. It’s… it’s good to hear your voice.”

He smiled into the phone, letting his voice soften and convey the sincerity of his words, “Aye, Sassenach, it’s good to hear yours too.”

An hour or so later, when Jenny Murray went up to her brother’s room to let him know that dinner was on the table, the sound of her brother laughing halted her hand just before she knocked. For the past fortnight, Jamie had been dour, sullen and more prone to tantrums than Wee Jamie and Maggie put together. Getting the two of them fed tonight had been a battle, Ian trying his best to wrangle a teething Maggie as Jenny had an entire bowl of mince and tatties spilled down her front by her son. It had been a tiring night but now, the two wee ones were in bed and her brother was laughing again. Her heart lifted at the thought and she sent a prayer of thanks up to her parents for giving him a bit of a reprieve from his heartbreak.

“Sassenach, ye ken fine well…”

As soon as she heard him say it, she spun herself from Jamie’s door, cursing under her breath about her eejit brother who didn’t know what was good for him and definitely not what was bad for him. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Claire, in fact she had been glad knowing that there was someone to look out for Jamie when he’s was away at university. Jenny always knew that her younger brother was more green behind the ears than he was willing to admit. When he had nonchalantly mentioned that he’d be bringing home a friend for the summer of his first year at university, Jenny had pulled Claire into a hug on the steps of Lallybroch, welcoming her with literal open arms and finding Claire to be a quick witted, intelligent woman but with a softness behind her eyes that Jenny hoped would lend her to being a good friend to her brother. The problem, Jenny quickly realised the first night they’d all sat down to dinner together, was that Jamie had fallen head over heels in love with her.

She tried her hardest to lighten her step as she made her way back into the kitchen, knowing that she would not react kindly to any teasing about her ‘stomping’ around the house. Instead Jenny took out her frustration on the chicken curry that was bubbling on the stove, whirling the wooden spoon around with a little more force than was needed.

“Did I miss saying goodnight tae the bairns?” Jamie’s voice rumbled against the stone walls of the kitchen, pulling her attention away from the storm cloud that was brewing in her stomach as she plated up for herself, his large frame appearing over her shoulder. “Smells fine.”

As the full plate slammed down on the countertop, Jamie frowned in confusion as Jenny turned, her hands set at her hips in a way that still put the fear of God in him.

He took a step backwards (out of her reach if she decided to brandish the spoon at him), his eyebrows raised along with a single hand. Jamie knew from experience that it was better to pip her to the post before she got into the swing of an argument, “Before ye say anything, I want tae apologise first.”

“And just what will ye be apologisin’ for this time, mo bhràthair?”

“For treatin’ this place as a hotel, havin’ ye run after me like I’m one of yer bairns,” he had the foresight to look genuinely penitent and it softened her a bit. “I promise ye I’ll start pullin’ my weight.”

“Well, I canna say that I disagree wi’ ye. And I’ll be thankful of the help, Ian was just sayin’ the west gate needs mending. About time ye bucked up and started helpin’ wi’ the jobs around here,” she said firmly. Jamie’s eyes narrowed in at her face, confused. He’d apologised before she even asked but there was clearly something still there that he hadn’t addressed, that she was expecting him to bring up.

“Is there somethin’ else?” He asked carefully, fighting the urge to pull up the door to the priest hole that he was standing on in an attempt to hide from her wrath.

Instead, she sighed and handed a second plate to him. Her hands went from her hips to the table in front of her as she manoeuvred herself to sit. He followed her lead and sat down across from her, watching closely as she began to eat after expelling another pregnant sigh.

“Will ye give me a hint as to what I’ve done tae piss ye off?” He grumbled as he began to eat himself, trying his hardest not to cower as she sent him a death glare from across the table. Suddenly, the space between her brows furrowed and she let the weight of her head slump into an upturned palm.

“I’m worried about ye, Jamie. I’m always worried about ye but still,” she said in a quiet voice.

“I ken I’ve no’ been out of my room much and I’ve been a right miserable sod. But I’m starting to feel better… I think.”

Jenny narrowed her eyes at him, trying hard not to let the judgement seep in as she quickly placed her hand over the top of his, rolling her eyes when he jumped at the sudden contact.

“I think ye should stay away for a while. She’s in Boston wi’ Frank and havin’ tae adjust to her new life, ye should give her the space to do it.”

Realising that she’d overheard their phone call, Jamie shifted uncomfortably in his seat, fighting the urge to pull his hand from underneath hers as she tightened her grip.

“She was just phonin’ to say thanks for the flowers,” he mumbled, spooning a large helping of his dinner with his free hand into his mouth to try and shut down any need for a further explanation. Sadly, his big sister wasn’t buying it.

“I ken that yer finding it difficult, mo bhràthair, but maybe this is the opportunity tae find someone. Someone who’ll have ye. Ye’ve pined for Claire for so long but she’s never—“

“We slept together. In Amsterdam.”

The words hung in the space between the two siblings, heavy as lead. Jamie had felt the twist of his stomach at saying the words out loud and shot a glance to his sister’s dumbfounded face as the information permeated her thoughts.

“Ye glaikit bastard,” she finally exhaled softly, earning herself a sad smirk from her brother. “Why would ye dae that tae yerself?”

Jamie shrugged his shoulders, “It seemed… it felt like the right thing to do in the moment. And then I woke up the next morning and she was already gone. Chased her to the airport an’ aw but I was too late.”

Jenny huffed again, leaning back in her chair.

“I just thought if I could tell her that I loved her, that I’m in love wi’ her, maybe she’d have stayed. But she didn’t let me say it.”

“Aye, sounds like Claire,” Jenny scoffed, quickly composing herself at the glare she received. “Suppose it makes mare sense for all the mopin’ ye’ve been doing.”

Jamie humphed and rubbed a hand roughly over his face, sinking his fingers through his hair.

“It’s fine, it’s done and I canna change it, wouldn’t change it anyway. It was a very special night for me.”

“I ken but, Jamie, she is gone. She has made her choice. And it’s coorse of her to dangle herself in front of ye when she’s away living her life and yer here, where she left ye.”

His bright blue eyes bore into her, a warning, “Careful, Janet. Claire is my friend and I wilna let her navigate this on her own—“

“She’s nae on her own, she’s wi’ Frank!”

“Aye, she is. And there’s fuck all I can dae about it so this is where I find myself. I wilna let my feelings get the better of me. I will be her friend, as I have been these past years.”

Jenny knew that there was no point in pushing. It was a Fraser family trait, digging your heels in, more often than not to your own detriment. And if there was one topic that Jamie wouldn’t budge on, it was Claire. She got to her feet and grabbed her plate, moving around the table to press a single kiss into the mop of his red hair before leaving the room.

“Ca canny, mo bhràthair.”

#light across the seas that severed #clan donnachaidh #ao3 #outlander fanfic #jamie fraser #Claire beauchamp #outlander #modern au

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writingwithacupoftea · 4 years ago

Text

The Unexpected Visitor in Small Heath

Summary: Y/N Shelby was a nurse during the war. What happens when a ghost from that past comes looking for her? A ghost with definite intentions...

Word Count: 3683

Trigger Warnings: a slightly handsy dude

A/N: *peeks out from my hiding place* hi guys, I’m back!! Hope you’re all good - to me it feels so amazing to be posting some writing again! As you can probably tell by the word count, I got a bit carried away with this one and so it’s basically unedited, so apologies for any mistakes 😂 Hope you enjoy it! 😘

"About fucking time, Y/N, I've been waiting here for almost a quarter of an hour."

"You've knocked on my door five minutes ago, Tommy, stop being such a dramatic shit!"

To any passers-by outside of Y/N Shelby's house, for a moment it would have looked like the two siblings were about to get into another argument. But any anxieties about that were washed away when they observed the teasing glint in the younger girl's eye and the playful shove given by the man, as they made their way down the cobbled streets of Birmingham.

Tommy and Y/N Shelby were as thick as thieves, there was no doubt about that. The brother and sister loved each other fiercely, and where one of them was found, it was almost certain that the other wouldn't be too far behind. But when they rowed, oh boy, did they row.

It was only a few days ago that the occupants of the Garrison were subjected to their shouting, after Tommy had scared off yet another one of Y/N's dates. As usual, however, the argument had soon blown over.

***

Y/N loved living in Small Heath. It was a shithole, but it was her shithole, so she didn't mind it as much.

To Tommy's surprise, she had turned down the offer of either living with him in Warwickshire or buying her a place of her own in the country. Instead, she had asked her brother if she could move into his old house on Watery Lane, to which he had agreed.

His swaying factor had been that someone would always be close-by if anything happened at the office, and the rest of the family had a place to crash if they needed to.

Y/N, on the other hand, had more emotional reasons for wanting to stay where she grew up. Since training as a nurse for the war, the Shelby girl had got to know the children of Small Heath very well: she had somehow become the go-to person whenever one of them got into a scuffle or had an accident, and always fixed them up with a smile on her face as she listened to their innocent voices babble away. Y/N wanted to see them grow up, and didn't want to abandon them. She also didn't want to leave behind some of the poorer families in Small Heath, who she paid a visit to once a week to check that everyone was as well as could be.

Tommy had had one condition for Y/N's staying in Small Heath by herself – that he walked her to and from work or the Garrison (wherever they were the latest) every day, and the days that he couldn't make it that she would let him get one of the blinders to do the job instead. The Shelby name and his sister's capabilities alone were not enough to settle his worries about her wellbeing.

And this job was what had brought Tommy to Y/N’s house that morning. It had come to Y/N’s attention that her brother seemed to be at his happiest during these walks - and when she said ‘happiest’ she meant that there was often just a slight glimmer of a smile on his face and his eyes looked a touch softer. Sometimes the indicators were bigger, but more often than not this was where the happiness would stop. It was in these moments that Tommy seemed to be at his most human, and they were the favourite part of Y/N’s day.

Apart from today.

The pair navigated the streets with ease, speaking quietly to each other, just as on every other day of the year. Suddenly, however, Y/N stopped still, lips parted slightly in shock. Tommy examined her expression carefully, and after realising (with a sigh of relief) that his sister wasn't scared shitless, followed her line of sight. It landed on a man. A rather scruffy man, who appeared to have done an awful job at trying to make himself look respectable, Tommy thought. The Shelby man knew that this was a stranger to Small Heath, not only by the fact that he had never seen such a distinct person before, but also by the way that he looked at the buildings and the people in the street. Yes, Tommy concluded, that was definitely a look with purpose.

Breaking Tommy away from his thoughts was the delicate hand that grabbed his wrist tightly, causing him to look down at his sister. "Tommy, how do you fancy taking the scenic route to the office today, hmm?" Whilst her voice was light, as if she were simply commenting on the day's weather, the forced smile that was plastered on her face was the one that she used at parties when she wanted to get away from someone (usually when she was being annoyed or bored to death).

Amused by Y/N's desperate desire to get away, he resisted her impatient pull on his arm towards a side street. "What's wrong with this way, Y/N/N? This is the route we take every day, I'm not going about changing it now." Tommy's voice was teasing as he casually lit a cigarette.

"Yes, yes, Tom, I know you're a stickler for routine – but for once in your fucking life can you do as I say?"

"Ah, well I was considering it, but since you've been so rude to me..."

The man was getting closer.

"Please, Tommy, I'll do anything." Y/N hated that she was having to practically beg her brother, but the situation was one that she definitely wanted to avoid. She even slipped her hand down to grasp his tightly for emotional effect, something that she hadn't done for years (but, oh, how she relished that warm and safe feeling that it brought with it).

Surprised at his sister's actions and looking into her wide eyes, he was about to relent and let her drag him down the side streets to the office. But it was too late.

"NURSE SHELBY!" The man's deep voice bellowed down the street, causing a few people to look towards them.

"Fucking hell," Y/N mumbled under her breath, giving Tommy's hand a tight squeeze and then letting go, before addressing the man. "Henry. What a surprise! What brings you to Birmingham?"

"Well, you, of course!"

Y/N cringed internally as she saw Tommy's eyebrows shoot up at this statement. Tommy cleared his throat. "Aren't you going to introduce us, Y/N?"

Sending a quick death glare up to her brother out of the corner of her eye, the woman replied with strained politeness: "My apologies. Henry, this is my brother, Thomas Shelby. Tommy, this is Henry Mathers, one of my former patients."

"Pleasure to meet you, sir." Henry shook Tommy's hand, the latter trying his hardest not to grimace at the thick layer of sweat coating the other man's palm.

"Likewise, Mr Mathers. You met my sister in France, then?"

"Yes, sir. We said that if we both made it out of there alive, we'd go for a drink. Ever since I got back I've been searching for her and here I am! And, oh, it was worth the wait to see that face again."

Tommy could no longer suppress the smirk threatening to escape as he looked between Henry's longing gaze and Y/N's very clearly faked happiness crossed with panic.

"Well, my sister is a woman of her word, Mr Mathers, and I'm sure she'd be delighted to be able to catch up with you after all these years." Tommy decided to pause for dramatic effect. "Perhaps you can go to the Garrison tonight, Y/N? We've had it done up recently, it's just around this corner here" Tommy added, pointing in the direction of the pub.

"Oh, that sounds perfect! I shall meet you there at eight o'clock, Miss Shelby." Before Y/N could get a word in edgeways, Henry was removing his bowler hat and bowing his balding head. "Good day to you, Miss Shelby, Mr Shelby." The man continued to walk down the street, a definite spring now in his step.

As soon as he was far enough away, Y/N sent a firm punch to her brother’s stomach. “What the actual fuck, Tommy?” She started to storm down the street quickly, leaving Tommy hurrying after her. “One minute you’re chasing men away from me, and next you’re setting me up on dates with people you don’t know the first thing about!”

“You’re the one who agreed to go for a drink with him in the first place, don’t go blaming me.”

“He had a lot of drugs in his system when he asked, I didn’t think he’d actually remember it.” Catching her brother’s amused smile at her excuse, she continued. “He was on the verge of death, I wasn’t exactly going to say no, was I?”

“Oh, so he fought to stay alive just for you then, eh? Sounds like a keeper to me, Y/N/N.”

“You’re an arse, Thomas Shelby. A complete and utter arse.”

***

Y/N remained in a foul mood with Tommy for the rest of the day, not that this surprised him.

When the hands of the clock hit ten to eight exactly, however, he still knocked on his sister's door to take her to the Garrison himself.

Tommy couldn't help the chuckle that fell from his lips at the sight of Y/N, clad in a beaded black dress, scowling as she stepped out of the house.

"You do know that you're not going to a funeral tonight?"

"Oh, it's my bloody funeral, alright. Might be his too, if he reverts back to his old ways." Y/N started playing with her hands as they made their way towards the pub, something that she'd done since she was little when she was nervous.

Tommy noticed it immediately, eyebrows furrowing slightly in concern as he recalled Y/N's desperation to avoid Henry. It hadn’t really hit him properly in the moment how desperate she had been. But before he could begin to question what the man's 'old ways' were, his sister spoke again.

"But you were right about one thing earlier, Tommy. I did still agree to go out with Henry, no matter what state he was in when he asked. It would be rude of me not to go through with it and at least act like I'm having a nice time, seeing as he's come all this way for it. So," her voice became sterner, "I'm going to smile my way through the evening, and you'd better not start any fights - do you understand me?"

The older of the two Shelbys sighed, a feeling of dread beginning to build up inside of him. "I can get you out of this if you -"

"No, Tommy." An angry fire was dancing in the young woman's eyes. "You don't get to land me in this situation and then try to snap your fingers and revert it. That's not how this works. This is happening, no thanks to you..." The last part was mumbled under her breath as she pushed the heavy pub doors open.

Tommy hadn't wanted to lose his sister in the same way that he had lost Ada at the beginning – not giving her enough freedom, especially given their argument the other day. So, when a man came along who she had agreed to go for a drink with previously, he had decided (for once) to take the light-hearted and supportive approach, a far cry from the overprotective older brother that he had been since the moment that Y/N had been born.

He was starting to regret even considering changing his ways, and the night had barely begun...

***

From his seat at an ordinary table at the Garrison, Tommy looked at the occupants at the bar once again, probably for about the fifth time in the past two minutes. He had decided not to retreat into the snug, as he usually did, wanting to keep a close eye on Y/N and Henry.

So far, the evening had gone surprisingly well - it was far better than any of Tommy’s imaginings after his discussion with his sister previously. He had heard his sister’s gentle laugh ringing across the room on multiple occasions (and he could tell that it was genuine), and the pair had barely stopped talking.

Maybe this would prove to be a success, Tommy had mused.

One thing that the man’s careful eye had picked up on, however, was how many whiskeys Henry had thrown back. Tommy had concluded that no matter how well things appeared to be going now, he wasn't leaving just yet.

And he was glad he didn't – for just 15 minutes later, as the alcohol began to kick in to Henry's system, things began to go downhill.

It started with the occasional nervous laugh, or a smile that didn’t quite reach his sister's eyes as she avoided Henry's intense gaze. This grew more frequent as Henry continued to drink, and Y/N began playing with her hands once again as well.

The head of the Shelby family was an inch away from leaping out of his seat when he saw Henry leaning over to whisper in Y/N's ear, and her nose crinkled in disgust at the stench of alcohol on his breath. After a few subtle attempts, she finally managed to push him away from her, and Tommy relaxed slightly as he heard her state a firm "No." His sister was always a lot tougher than he thought.

But her efforts were undermined as Henry grabbed her left hand, holding it as if he were about to kiss her knuckles. However his grip was far too firm for that. Ripping her hand out of his, Y/N grabbed her bag hurriedly and started to get off her seat, and Tommy stood up himself.

The final straw for the protective brother was when he witnessed Y/N freeze completely as Henry rested a hand on her knee to stop her from leaving. Fists clenched as he tried to contain his anger, remembering his sister's warning about not starting any fights, Tommy marched over to the bar, his lie for getting her out of there already prepared.

"Y/N, something urgent has come up, we need to call a family meeting – now." Tommy extended a hand to his sister, which she gratefully took as he helped her get down off the barstool and pulled her safely to his side. "Would you get my things from the back room, I've just got something to sort out quickly before we go. I'll see you outside."

Y/N nodded, knowing exactly what Tommy was doing. Shooting her brother a grateful glance, Y/N mumbled a quick "Goodbye" to Henry, and walked off quickly, not wanting to be in the man's company for any longer than necessary.

***

She slipped out of the back door and into the cold night air, relief washing over her. Lighting a cigarette, Y/N waited for her brother, wondering how he had got to her so quickly – she hadn't seen him once after meeting up with Henry.

A few minutes later, Tommy emerged and went straight to Y/N. "You alright?" His thick Brummie accent comforting her as he, too, lit a cigarette.

Y/N sent him a soft smile as she replied, "I'm fine, Tom. I'm assuming there isn't actually an emergency?" Her voice was laced with amusement.

"Nope."

The siblings stayed there for a while, smoking and listening to the sounds of the pub behind them. Y/N vaguely wondered whether Henry would find them, but looking up at her brother's solid presence beside her, she felt any worries lift off her shoulders.

Out of the blue, Tommy threw his cigarette to the ground and stubbed it out, turning to Y/N. "Come on. Do you fancy going for a walk?"

"Yeah, I need to clear my head." Tommy started to move towards the street. "Oi! I'm finishing this first, you know I hate smoking and walking at the same time!"

***

"You gonna tell me what happened tonight then, eh?"

The pair didn't know how long they had been wandering the streets of Small Heath for, but Tommy's curiosity had finally gotten the better of him.

Y/N sighed, her eyes focused on the cobblestones beneath her. "When Henry first came to us, back in France, he'd been caught up in an explosion. After the doctors had seen him, he was still very drugged up and the chances of him surviving were about fifty-fifty. We had to keep administering him the drugs for a few days, because he was in so much pain. He kept calling me over, wanting to talk to me no matter how busy I was – said that he needed a 'pretty girl' like me to keep him company. I humoured him. But then he started saying things like we were 'meant to be together', 'soulmates' even."

Y/N paused, thinking hard. "He lied when he showed up today: he said that he asked me out for a drink, but he didn't. What Henry actually said was, and I quote, 'If we both survive this fucking war, I'm going to find you and marry you.' I had no clue what to say. His chances of making it out of the hospital alive, never mind the war, weren't improving. So I said something like 'Well, I hope you buy me a drink first.' I ran off after that, and another one of the nurses took over his care. I had no clue that he was still alive until today.

"At the pub tonight, I will admit that I did enjoy catching up with him. For someone who I believed to be a lost cause all those years ago, it was nice to hear that he'd actually done something with his life. But then he brought up getting married again, insisting that I was still 'the one' for him and that it was the thought of me that kept him going until the end of the war. He just kept repeating over and over again that he was going to marry me and that we'd be so happy together.

"But just before you came over, he was getting rather forceful about it. I don't think I've ever been so happy to see your stupid face." She laughed a little, noticing her brother's annoyed (yet secretly amused) glare as they sat down next to the Cut.

"It wasn't him that freaked me out, necessarily - it was the thought of marriage. I'm not ready yet, Tom, and to be honest I don't know if I ever will be, no matter how many boys I try and date. I'm terrified of being tied down to someone and losing my independence. I enjoy being by myself too much – and with you lot, I suppose." Y/N nudged her brother's arm.

A comfortable silence settled between the siblings, and Y/N let it sit there, wanting to give Tommy the time to process everything that she had said in her little monologue.

Happiness was one emotion that the elder Shelby didn't expect to feel after hearing his sister's answer to his question. And yet it coursed through his every vein, accompanied by a sort of relief. Tommy wanted his sister to find contentment and peace more than anything; even though he hated the thought of her marrying, of her having someone else to turn to that wasn't him, a few years ago Tommy had come to accept that one day Y/N would want to move on from him and the family. Maybe even start her own family. This acceptance, however, hadn't been able to stop him from deterring nearly any man who came her way. In his mind, anyone that couldn't stand up to Tommy definitely wouldn't be able to deal with his youngest sister, and that they simply weren't good enough for her.

To hear, though, that Y/N had no intention of leaving him yet, was music to his ears. It was also a comfort to know that she was waiting for the right person to get serious with – Tommy felt as though he wouldn't have to spend as much time hunting down every single potential suitor. Instead, he could spend the time with his beloved, if annoying, little sister.

But this was Tommy Shelby, and he would never communicate such vast amounts of emotion verbally. "So I'm stuck with you for a bit longer then?"

"Unfortunately, yes." Y/N couldn't help the grin that spread across her face, understanding the exact meaning behind her brother's words. It widened as she heard Tommy chuckling slightly in response, a sound that she had nearly forgotten. "What did you do with Henry? After I left the pub?"

Tommy cleared his throat, uncomfortably. "He won't be proposing to you again any time soon, don't you worry, sweetheart."

"Tommy, I thought I said - "

"No fighting, I know. And I did as you said, I didn't start any tonight." He looked, almost sheepishly, over at Y/N, who had adopted Polly's stern expression. "I told him that if I saw him again in our city, I'd cut him myself, and the same applies for if he tries to contact you again."

The younger Shelby sighed and rolled her eyes, fondly. "Well, I can't complain about that, can I?" Y/N heard the bells of the church chime, telling her that it was midnight. She turned to Tommy. "Home?"

He nodded. "Home," and he knew exactly where that was tonight. Tommy stood up and brushed the dirt off of his trousers, whilst Y/N got up too. They were about to set off when Tommy held his hand out to his sister, just like he used to when they were younger. Y/N instinctively took it, a feeling of warmth spreading throughout her body. She felt loved, and knew for certain that this love was the only one that she needed at the moment.

Tommy didn't let go until they reached the front door, comforted in the knowledge that Y/N was going to remain his little girl for a while longer yet.

#peaky blinders #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x sister reader #shelby sister #shelby sis #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders sister #peaky blinders x sister!reader #tommy shelby x sister!reader #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinders fic #peaky blinders fanfic #shelby!reader #shelby!sister

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eideticmemory · 4 years ago

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FINE LINE | SPENCER REID

Two decades and two children later, you and your ex-husband learn to navigate the world of co-parenting.

Word Count: 2,604.

Warning: Daddy issues, mommy issues, angst, drama, romance. Love to see it.

You could feel it. The light illuminating your face, touching it with a gentle heat that made your eyes flutter open. Your head felt heavy, as if your neck was attempting to support the weight of a canon ball. You rested your skull on the back of the chair you sat in, eyelids dropping just above your irises. Just in the distance, you could make out a cinema screen. Large, blurry, projecting a bright white screen.

Her image appeared in the center of the square, perfect, in place, still. But you could make out the grin on her face. Watching her dark red lips release the words, “Hello, sleepyhead.”

You could just barely muster up the strength to part your lips, pushing out a small gust of air. It was hot and made your mouth feel like it was on fire.

“H—“

“Oh,” she interrupted you, gently, quietly. You jumped at the feeling of her touching your arm, her palm tight around your forearm. She was cold, freezing, but you could still feel warmth radiating off of her. “I’m afraid you can’t stay too long this time. It’s time to wake up.”

“Hm?” You whined. “Mm?”

“Wake up,” she repeated. “C’mon, wake up. Wake up, wake up, wake u—“

“Up!”

You jolted, violently, harshly, your eyes springing open to reveal the usual sight of your bedsheets.

“Mom, wake up,” an exasperated voice sounded from beside you, the words catching your attention instantly. Tightly.

“Huh?” You mumbled, flickering your eyes up to the figure at your side, sitting on your bed, looking at you with a concerned stare. “Hm?”

“Are you alright?” Eden asked. Sunlight shone on her face, giving her the appearance of an angel. Sent to wake you, pull you back into reality. “What were you dreaming about?”

You let out a long sigh, as if you could even begin to explain your subconscious mind to your 15-year-old daughter. “Oh, y’know,” you whispered, sitting yourself upright and resting back against the headboard. “Just...lions, and tigers, and bears.”

“Oh my,” Eden responded, her big brown eyes concentrated on your face.

You chuckled underneath your breath, and let out a quick huff. “Oh, shoot, is your brother up?”

“He’s up, he’s dressed, he’s fed, and reading the Illiad.”

“Oh?” You stepped out of bed, pulling the duvet over your legs to reveal your pajama pants. “What happened to War and Peace?”

“He finished that yesterday.”

“He gets quicker every hour,” you shook your head.

“It’s a genius thing,” Eden shrugged. She fiddled with the ends of her hair, watching the strands brush over her fingers as she chewed her lip. “Hey, mom?”

“Yeah, kid?” You replied, standing in the bathroom mirror as you began to get ready for the day.

“You—you know dad, right?”

You stopped in your tracks, any and all movements coming to a halt. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and you spun on your heels, slowly, until you came face to face with Eden. “Uh . . . your dad?”

“Yes.”

“Tall? Long, brown hair? Hazel eyes? Has a birthmark on his right thigh?” You listed, toothbrush hanging from your mouth.

“Ew,” Eden cringed. “Yes.”

“Never met him in my life,” you shrugged.

“Mom.”

“Kid,” you tilted your head, face softening as you realized how nervous she was. “What’s up?”

She sighed, ducking her head down to avoid eye contact. “I invited him to my sweet 16.”

“Oh.” It came out like reflex. You said the word before you could fully process the information.

“Are you mad?”

“No—huh? E,” you rushed to sit beside her. “You don’t have to hide inviting your father from me—you—you don’t have to invite your father at all. He’s always welcome to visit on your birthday. And of course he should be at your sweet sixteen.”

“Really?” Eden questioned, eyebrows raised. “So, it will be a nice day? A nice party? Everyone will be nice to everyone?”

“Yes, yes, girl scouts honor.”

“Good,” she nodded, a satisfied smile on her face. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen him.”

“Oh, babe,” you murmured, tucking her hair behind her ear. “It—“

“Mom!” A shrill voice struck both of you with fear, coming out of nowhere.

“Yes, my love?” You directed at Emerson, watching him fidget with his hands in the doorway. His shaggy brown hair covered his face slightly and his button up was tucked into his khaki shorts.

“My chess tournament starts soon, are you coming?” He asked.

“I wouldn’t miss it for anything in the world, kiddo. You and your sister go downstairs while I get dressed.”

They’re obedient, your kids. Kind, driven, smart — with an average IQ of 187.5. The could take over the world if they really, really wanted to. But they don’t. They just want to go out for pizza, and get their twenty dollar allowance every week, hang out with their friends, focus on school, and . . . to see their father. You solemnly set your toothbrush down in the bathroom, looking at yourself in the mirror — tired, worn out, nauseous from another . . . dream? Nightmare? You’re not sure, and frankly, you don’t want to think about it.

So, you pushed on. You got dressed, fixed your hair, used light makeup to cover your exhaustion. Stepping out into the bedroom, your eyes quickly fell on your cellphone — the device laying on your bedside dresser. Hands on your hips, you shook your head, telling yourself not to do it. It’s not necessary, it’s overbearing to even think about.

Then, you remembered who you were dealing with here. And you rushed over to picked up the phone.

“[y/n] Reid,” he beamed. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I heard you talked to E,” you whispered, pacing back and forth in your bedroom.

“I did,” Spencer confirmed. “She called me the other day.”

“To invite you to her birthday party.”

“Yes.”

“And are you planning on coming?” You asked.

“Of course I’m planning on coming. It’s my daughter’s sixteenth birthday.”

“Right, right, it’s not like you missed her fifteenth, or thirteenth, or her twelfth, or her actual birth, or anything.”

“[y/n]—”

“Listen, I didn’t call to argue, or even talk,” you sighed. “I just called to tell you that this party isn’t an option. You will be here Saturday at 10 o’clock sharp, you will help decorate, you will spend time with your children, and you will make this the best damn day Eden Reid has ever had. Understood?”

“I have to help decorate?”

“Spencer—“

“I will be there. 10 o’clock. I will help decorate, I will spend time with my children, I will make this the best damn day Eden Reid has ever had. I understand.”

You released a quiet huff, like your lungs couldn’t stand to hold the breath any longer. “Thank you.”

Spencer let out a soft, sad laugh, “Haven’t done that in a while.”

Chess gives you anxiety. You understand it. You can conceptualize it, and even play it. Well. But the bubbling in your stomach every time you witnessed a game — particually one where your eight year old son is playing — comes back to haunt you again and again. You don’t worry about Emerson, he can take care of himself. He’s like his father in that way, the game is in his blood. But the tension, the speed, the risk. It made your breath lodge in your chest, and every so often, you had to sigh to regain control.

The only thing that could pull you from that stress is Em. Emerson Derek Reid, the little half smile on his face when he wins a match. It makes the three hour tournaments worth it. Watching your boy play against college level students who have been playing all their lives. Yeah, so has he.

He jumps off stage in an excited state, rushing towards you with open arms. “You’re a tiger, kid!” You exclaim. “You killed it.”

“Thank you, thank you,” he shrugged. “It’s really my opponents’ fault, they wouldn’t know a queen from a rook if it was looking them in the face.”

“Ooh, cat fight.” E remarked, causing Em and you to laugh.

“Hey,” you said. “Since you’re both already out of school today . . . wanna play hookie?”

“Mom? I am shocked!” E gasped, trying hard to contain a laugh.

“Oh, c’mon, we never get to hang out anymore since you guys started these college classes and my business went up. I’m off work, you’re already out of class, let’s just do it. Let’s go shop and eat and hang out and I will write you guys an excuse for tomorrow, okay?” You rambled, putting your hands to their shoulders.

Em and E looked at each other, and after a minute, they looked up at you and nodded.

Your very, very favorite people on the whole planet.

You took them to the mall. Bought Em some new clothes, but he wasn’t really interested. You and E did most of the picking. He sat in the corner of the store reading and only participated to try on outfits you guys had picked out. You both squealed and told him how cute he looked, and he scrunched up his nose. Just like . . .

And then you bought E some shoes, some vans. There was a huge sell, and she fell in love with everything she tried on. And you fell in love with seeing her happy so you ran up a bill.

“Okay, which one of us is dying?” E said as you sat at lunch. Em bursted out laughing.

“Wha—neither of you! I just wanted to spoil you guys. You kill yourselves all week with school, even though it’s summer. And I never see you, that’s all.”

“Mhm,” Em hummed, an unconvinced look in his face as he eyed his sister. “I bet someone died.”

“Em!” You exclaimed, E’s laughter blending in. “God, you guys are morbid.”

“Our parents both worked in the FBI, we’re basically trained,” E giggled.

Just then, you got a call. Work. Fuck. You stood from the table and stepped outside, excusing yourself first.

“[y/n].”

“Can we close the Pickett case tonight?”

“Raven . . .”

“I don’t want that boy in that house for one more second. [y/n], I will send you more of my notes, but . . . read them, read them. You will understand. Please.”

You sighed, “I’ll be there at ten. If you are not there at ten . . . I’ll wait for you. Let’s do it.”

“Thank you! Thank you, thanks! Bye. Sorry. Bye.”

You took in a deep breath and shook your head.

Nothing was going to spoil your lunch. Not today.

The car ride home, the three of you vibed to music. Your kids knew every word to Fleetwood Mac’s discography and it was your greatest accomplishment. They even developed their own dance routine to Dreams when they were younger.

Your very, very favorite people on the whole planet.

You pulled up to your house, and as you approached the driveway, you saw a familiar car parked out front. Your stomach flipped, caved in, skipped, hopped, and jumped.

Words can’t even described what it did when you saw him.

Sitting on the porch swing.

“Dad?” Em exclaimed loudly in excitement. You parked in the driveway, eyeing Spencer the whole time.

“Dad?” E said quietly, confusion in her voice. “Did you—“ She directed at you, interrupted by her brother hopping out of the car.

Em ran up to Spencer, and his father scooped him up in a quick motion, spinning him around and kissing his head.

You let out a quick huff, turned to E and smiled, “C’mon, go say hi.”

You followed E out of the car, and watched as she tip toed towards Spencer. She suddenly skipped and jumped into Spencer’s arms.

“Hey, dad,” she said.

“Hey, kid!” He replied, before putting her on her feet. “Your hair is getting so long!”

“Yeah,” she twirled her hair and laughed. “What are you doing here!”

“I wanted to see you guys . . .” He turned to you. “And your mom, who’s quiet as a mouse.”

“Hello,” you shrugged, giving him a kind smile.

“Are you staying for today, dad?” Em asked, tucked under Spencer’s arm.

“I was actually hoping to stay until Sunday, if that’s okay with your mom, of course.”

Your very, very least favorite person on the whole planet.

“Please, mom? He can be here for my birthday!” E pipped.

Em. E. Em. E. Those big, pouty eyes of theirs staring you down. “You can stay in the guest room,” you told Spencer.

“Is that close to your bedroom?” Spencer smirked.

“Heh,” you huffed. “Don’t push it. You can stay upstairs.”

“Yes! C’mon, dad! I made a new model that I wanna show you!”

Later that night, you made the kids pasta. It was one of your finer cuisines, taught to you by an old friend, and they asked for it all the night, especially when they needed to study.

Spencer wandered into the kitchen after getting settled upstairs. “Woah! I thought we could go out for dinner, huh? My treat?”

“We would, dad,” Eden said. “But we both have tests tomorrow. Calculus and Physics. Maybe tomorrow.”

You set their plates down and looked up at Spencer. You walked over to him, eyeing him knowingly as you led him out of the kitchen.

“They’re nerds,” Spencer laughed.

“They’ve also both got an eidetic memory. It’s gonna take them all of three minutes to study, then they’ll be all over you again,” you told him, walking out onto the back patio.

Following you, Spencer closed the door behind him, isolating you two on the porch.

You sat down, plopped down, and looked up at him, “Why are you here?”

“Subtle.”

“Spencer.”

“I mean it, you should be a federal agent.”

“Spencer.”

He sighed heavily, “I have some things I want to . . . handle.”

“Here?” You asked.

“Yes,” he hesitated. “I haven’t been enough a part of the kids’ lives—“

You rolled yours eyes. Yeah, you knew that.

“I want to fix that, to have a real relationship with them.” He continued.

“You’ve always been able to,” you shrugged. “You get distracted.”

“Work,” he muttered.

“Always is.”

“And . . .” he whispered, his eyes flickering back and forth between you and the ground.

You furrowed your eyebrows, “And?”

“I — I want to fix my relationship with you.”

Huh.

“I want us to go to therapy.”

Huh.

“Wha—“ You stuttered, rising from your seat. “Spencer, what?”

“Not couples therapy. Nothing . . . romantic,” his voice cracked. “But we can’t keep acting so . . . poorly around the kids. They’re smart, they notice things. They always have.”

“Spencer, how are we gonna go to therapy? You’d need to dig up Freud himself and have him work on us full time.”

“I just think we need to talk,” he murmured. He stepped closer to you, breathing deeply as he towered over you. “Will you please just think about it?”

You stared him in the eye, let out a heavy exhale.

Spencer.

#spencer reid imagine #spencer reidxreader #spencer reid/reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds imagine #mine #fl

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avengerscompound · 4 years ago

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The Tower: Family - 28

The Tower: Family An Avengers Fanfic

Series Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Pairing: Avengers x OFC, Bruce Banner x Bucky Barnes x Clint Barton x Wanda Maximoff x Steve Rogers x Natasha Romanoff x Tony Stark x Thor x Sam Wilson x OFC (Elly Cooper)

Word Count: 2024

Warnings: Pregnancy, Smut (MMF, oral sex, vaginal sex, pregnancy sex)

Synopsis: With new powers, Thor now living on Earth full time, a wedding to plan, and Natasha and Wanda expecting, a lot is changing for Elly and her large and rather unconventional family. When Elise’s parents try to reestablish connections, Elly questions what being a family actually means.

Chapter 28: The Tour

Rose and Sarah stayed in the medbay under observation for almost two weeks all up. Wanda had been told that she could come home after a few days, but she wanted to be there if they needed to be fed, so she stayed the whole time, while each of us took turns staying with her too.

The day we got cleared to bring them up, Steve and Thor carried them swaddled in pastel muslin wraps. Everyone was waiting excitedly for them to arrive and when the elevator dinged Riley and Pietro ran over with the dogs on their heels, dancing around excitedly.

“Dey’re hewre, dey’re hewre!” They both chanted as the doors opened.

Thor laughed loudly as he, Steve, and Wanda stepped out. “What a wonderful welcome home for your sisters.”

“Alright, alright,” Steve said, as he tried to navigate his way around them. “We don’t want to scare them do we?”

“Daddy, daddy, we wanna show dem deyre woom,” Riley said excitedly.

“And our wooms too,” Pietro added.

Steve chuckled and ruffled Pietro’s hair. “Wanda? You don’t need to feed them yet?”

“No. We can take them for a tour of the house,” Wanda agreed.

Riley and Pietro showed them all around the house, making sure the rest of us came along too. There was no rhyme or reason to where they went. First heading up to the bedrooms then back down to the kitchen. To the games room above the cinema, then to the cinema and the dining area. Steve told them the garden had to wait for another day so instead, they led us all up to the gym.

By the time they were done the babies had started to complain a little, they looked exhausted and my back was killing me. Natasha looked like she wasn’t feeling particularly comfortable either, and I figured it might be time for her, me, and the kids to all take a nap.

“I think it might be time to feed the babies,” Wanda said. “Thank you, Riley and Pietro, for showing them around.”

“I think it might be time for you two to have a nap too,” I added.

“No, mommy,” Riley complained. “I don’d wanna.”

“Tell you what,” I said. “You come up with me and I’ll read a story and you rest. And if you don’t go to sleep you can get back up and play.”

Riley wrinkled her nose but gave a reluctant nod.

“El,” Bruce said, rubbing my back. “You and Natasha look exhausted. Why don’t you both go have a nap and I’ll read to the kids. We can go down to the garden with the dogs if they don’t fall to sleep.”

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“Absolutely,” Bruce agreed.

Wanda, Natasha, Bruce, and I headed upstairs, followed by Steve and Thor with the kids and we all veered off in different directions. Bruce took Riley and Pietro to Pietro’s room, Thor, Steve, and Wanda took the babies to the nursery, and Natasha and I headed to the main bedroom.

“Now the fun stuff starts,” I said, getting up into bed and pulling my body pillow into place. “Midnight feedings. Diaper changes.”

“Mm… I think the others are going to try and make it so we’re not the ones doing that,” Natasha said as she got into position facing me, with her own body pillow tucked under her, supporting her stomach. “At least until these two are born.”

“I guess that’s what the nannies are for too,” I agreed.

“Yes, they are,” Natasha said. “I mean obviously if we’re breastfeeding we’ll have to get up, but hopefully that means our sleep cycles aren’t too interrupted. There are 12 of us including the nannies after all.”

“Guess we’ll have to see,” I said.

She smiled and caressed my cheek. “I don’t like that we’re too big to cuddle up to each other.”

I giggled. “Me either. We need a third person to act as our cuddle surrogate.”

She started laughing. “I guess we could convince one of the boys to do that.”

“FRIDAY, can you ask the guys if anyone wants to come nap with us because we need a human body pillow,” I said.

“Of course,” FRIDAY said with a touch of humor to her voice.

“I wonder who will come,” Natasha said. “My money is on Clint. He’s always up for a nap.”

“Yeah probably,” I agreed.

To our surprise, it was Tony who showed up. “You order a human pillow?” He asked, taking his jacket off and draping it over the back of a chair.

“You don’t sleep,” Natasha said.

“No, but my need for human touch is extremely high,” he joked as he got up into bed.

“Aww, my poor touch starved baby,” I said, cuddling into him and putting my leg up on his hip.

“Won’t have to worry about that now,” Natasha teased as she mimicked my position on his other side.

We each rested our heads on his chest, so we were facing each other and breathing in each other’s exhaled breath. Tony hummed and curled his arms around both of us. “Yeah, this is nice.”

It wasn’t long until I was deep asleep.

I’m not sure how long I was asleep for when I woke again. The room had been darkened by FRIDAY so there was no real indication about what time it was. I felt very well rested though, so I must have hit that sweet zone where it was long enough to actually count but not too long to make you feel more tired than before you napped in the first place.

I opened my eyes and came face to face with Natasha who was still asleep. Her eyelashes fanned out over her cheek and her lips were parted slightly.

I ran my hand up under Tony’s t-shirt and ran my fingers over his stomach.

“What are you doing there?” Tony teased.

I looked up at him and he was looking down at me with a smile. “Sleep well, dear?” He asked.

“Mm-hmm…” I hummed and leaned up and kissed him.

His arm tightened around me, drawing me in closer as we kissed. The kiss was cut short as Natasha cleared her throat. We broke apart and looked at her. “You starting stuff while I’m using you as a pillow?” She scolded.

“You’re welcome to join in, Red,” Tony countered.

She seemed to consider it for a moment. “El, can you tell what everyone else is up to?”

I flicked my fingers through the threads that connected me to the others. “Umm, all the kids are still asleep but it feels like maybe twenty minutes more tops. Wanda is in the kitchen with Bucky. Bruce is down in the lab. The rest are all in the games room so I assume they’re playing Among Us.”

“God damn Clint introducing that game to Steve,” Natasha laughed as she brought her lips to mine.

We kissed deeply over Tony’s chest and Tony massaged our asses. She hummed softly and pulled back and looked at us both. “I guess we have twenty minutes until we need to be anywhere.”

“That’s enough for ten times,” Tony joked.

“Maybe for you,” Natasha said, pushing him onto his back. “But not for me.”

She kissed him hard and for a moment he didn’t seem to know where to put his hands. He just hovered them above her as he submitted to her kiss. Slowly he wrapped them around her, pulling her in closer as he slowly and passionately returned the kiss.”

I pushed his t-shirt up and kissed his chest as I watched them. Natasha slowly pulled back and looked at me. “This might be a little awkward given how big we’ve both got. Do you want to go down on me?”

I bit my bottom lip and nodded. We all stripped off our clothes, Tony helping Natasha and me with ours until all three of us were completely naked. Natasha propped some pillows behind her back and spread her legs and I crawled down between them, nuzzling at the insides of her thighs and the small thatch of red pubic hair. Tony ran his hands down my hand and over my ass as he leaned in and kissed Natasha’s neck. He spanked me gently and ran his fingers up and down my pussy in an unfocused way.

As I began to lap at Natasha’s cunt he kissed lower down her body and his fingers became more focused. When he reached her breasts, he pulled one of her nipples into his mouth, and at the same time, his fingers began to work my clit. Natasha gasped and her head dropped back as her cunt flooded. I moaned as I lapped up the tart fluids that dripped from her. My own arousal was growing and as Tony’s fingers explored my pussy they became soaked in my fluids and ran more easily up and down my folds.

I pushed two fingers inside Natasha, slowly moving them in and out while I sucked on her clit and ran my tongue quickly back and forth over it. Her moans got louder and she pushed her hips up like she wanted more. Tony let her nipple go and moved behind me, nudging my legs a little further apart and slapping the head of his cock on my clit. I gasped and pushed back against him, rolling my hips a little as he teased me.

My fingers became more focused and I began seeking out here g-spot. Tony pushed the head of his cock into my cunt, and just held it there like he was teasing me. I mewled needily and pushed back against him. “I know, dear,” he teased and spanked me before thrusting hard in and bottoming out.

I cried out and for a second I couldn’t focus. He spanked me again and Natasha grabbed my hair and pushed me back down against her cunt. I focused in, sucking greedily on her clit as I pushed my fingers deep inside her. My fingertips touched down on the soft, spongy surface of her g-spot and I dug them into it. Natasha cried out and bucked up and more of her fluids seeped from her. They ran down my wrist in little rivulets as I dragged my fingers over that sweet spot inside her again and again.

Tony fucked me hard from behind, thrusting into me again and again, and pushing me up against Natasha with every snap of his hips. I tried not to let him distract me. I kept moving my fingers inside Natasha, working them hard over her g-spot as I sucked and nipped at her clit.

Her legs began to tremble and she began to pant. The sounds she made were needy and animalistic like she’d lost the ability to control herself anymore. She lay back and her hips jerked up, and with a loud cry, she came - gushing onto me.

I didn’t stop what I was doing right away, I just kept stroking my fingers over her g-post. Natasha mewed, and tried to close her legs. “Stop…” she gasped. “Stop, Elise. I can’t.”

I stopped immediately pulling my fingers from her. She lay back panting and stroked my hair and I relaxed back into Tony, bouncing on his cock as he fucked me. Natasha crawled over and began to rub my clit hard. My own orgasm built and threatened to break. Natasha pinched my clit and I cried out, my body seizing up as I came hard.

“Fuck!” I moaned as Tony kept fucking me. He groaned and leaned forward, panting heavily without easing up at all.

“I’m close,” he groaned.

“Please, Tony,” I mewled. “Come inside me.”

He groaned loudly and his hips began to stutter. His fingers tightened on my thigh and he jerked inside me, releasing in hot ribbons.

He slipped out of me and I slowly flicked through each thread connecting me to the others.

“How long have we got?” Natasha asked.

“Mmm…” I hummed. “I’d say enough time for a shower.”

She sat up and smiled at me. “That sounds perfect.”

// NEXT

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andrei-svech · 4 years ago

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what christmas means to me || f. andersen

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Some very slight language, tooth-rotting fluff and babies if you’re not into that.

Summary: It’s your fifth Christmas with your husband Freddie, but your first with your baby girl.

a/n: Here’s some fun christmas fluff with human fridge Freddie Andersen that no one asked for! It’s VERY fluffy but was so much fun for me to write so I hope you all love it. BIG thank you to @woah-were-halfway-there for all her encouragement and for screaming at me to finish it (and there’s a little tie in to her AFTR series in there) you’re the best, friend. Merry Christmas to those who celebrate and happy reading!

This had always been your favorite time of year, the air in Herning crisp and biting but the fresh snow crunching under your boots putting a smile on your face. You had nothing but fond memories of Christmas. Most of your childhood you’d spent them with your mother’s extended family in Toronto, eating your grandmother’s homemade cinnamon rolls and opening presents with your cousins as the sun rose behind the house. Though you were in Denmark this Christmas, you still had the fuzzy warmth in your chest as you walked slowly beside your husband and the little girl perched in his arms. It was your fifth holiday with Freddie but your first with your daughter, whose wide eyes darted around the backyard with the unbridled curiosity of a child who was finally aware enough to take in her first snow. Your first Christmas with Freddie had been very early on in your relationship. You’d met him only a few months before, at a team barbecue hosted by the Hymans. Alannah had become one of your closest friends as the two of you navigated law school together, and you and Zach developed a friendly relationship as a result. As much time as you spent with the two of them, the first time you met his teammates didn’t come until about a year later. Alannah invited you one night over drinks and though you were a bit nervous going into a situation where you knew no one but her, you accepted the invitation and found yourself in their backyard nursing a red solo cup and being introduced to a whole mob of Maple Leafs and their significant others. After making the rounds you’d gone inside to fix another drink and found a large redhead in their kitchen. The moment his soft smile was directed back at you, you knew you were a goner. The two of you had spent almost the entirety of the barbecue chatting in that kitchen, and you left with his phone number and the promise of a date. You hadn’t looked back since. The second Christmas the two of you spent together, you decided to host both of your families at your shared home in Toronto. Your newly received engagement ring sparkled under the tree lights as the two sides finally met for the first time, excitement building for your future to come. Christmas number three you were in Herning, three months married and finding the time to travel overseas as Freddie recovered from shoulder surgery, indefinitely placed on injured reserve. You spent Christmas number four alone back in Ontario with Freddie’s hand constantly rubbing soft circles on your swollen belly as you watch holiday classics on TV. Your baby girl made her entrance two months later, wailing loudly but still managing to immediately capture both your heart and your husbands. You silently cursed yourself for not changing into something warmer as the thin leggings tucked into your boots weren’t really helping the shivers running through your body, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to go back inside. Not when your daughter stuck her tiny hand out and giggled at the feeling of the wet snow. You’d been excited to experience this with her since she was still an idea in your head. Of course you’d had snow back in Ontario, but this was the first time she really seemed to be understanding what she was seeing and feeling. The white blanket on the ground and the small flurries fascinated her as she gazed around the backyard in complete wonder. You quietly pulled your phone from your pocket as you continued through the cold further into your yard. The time read 4:04 PM, and though you knew it was only around ten in the morning in Scottsdale, you pulled up the familiar contact and hit the FaceTime button, the ringing filling your ears but not capturing the attention of Freddie or your girl. You rolled your eyes as it connected and what your husband called the world’s most terrible mustache filled your screen, but you couldn’t help the grin that spread across your own face as one of your favorite people appeared. “Hey y/n, how’s Scandinavia treating you?” he greeted, lounging on his sofa still in pajamas with a cup of coffee sat on the side table in the background. “Hi friend, always a good time in Denmark. ‘S it hot over there in good old AZ?” The two of you made small talk for the next few minutes before you heard your husband’s loud footsteps in the snow, looking up to find them walking back toward you, Fred’s smile soft in contrast to the giggles still coming from the infant he carried. Auston noticed your gaze lift from him to above the camera and he spoke again “Is that my girl? Where’s my girl, huh?” You didn’t think your daughter’s face could light up any further than it already had but sure enough it did as she heard his voice. “Look baby, say hi to Uncle Aus!” You handed the phone to Fred and he held it for a few minutes as he allowed the two of them to talk, Auston asking your daughter what she’d gotten for Christmas and telling her about his own family’s morning as she babbled back to him. You lost focus on the conversation in favor of watching the snow as it began to fall harder onto the ground below you. It had been steadily picking up speed since you’d started watching it from the bedroom window that morning, and you knew with the chill you’d have to take her inside soon. You tuned back in as you heard the conversation coming to an end, Freddie and Auston saying their goodbyes. “Bye Aus, say hi to Cars and the kids for me! Tell them we love them!” “Bye y/n, we love you too!” The call clicked off and when Fred handed the phone back you flipped over to your camera, moving to video mode to capture the moment of your daughter’s first real experience with snow. Fred gasped and directed her to look at the camera, waving and encouraging her to do the same. “Say hi mumma! Hi mumma!” “Hi baby!” you cooed at her as she flailed her arm in her best attempt at a wave, giggling as she batted more of the snow falling against her little fist. “Are you having fun baby girl? Do you love the snow? Daddy’s having so much fun too, look!” He smiled down at his girl, nodding enthusiastically along as she babbled aimlessly, gesturing to the environment around her. You stopped the video and made sure it saved to the camera roll, knowing it was a memory you’d cherish for years to come. “Okay family, I think it’s time to go inside, it’s getting a little chilly for us out here.” Your baby’s face dropped a bit but she remained silent and continued to mumble unintelligibly to herself as the three of you made your way back toward the house. You sighed at the warmth of your home as you made your way from the backdoor into the kitchen, shedding your coat before turning to help Fred pull the many layers off of your daughter. Her hat came first, then coat, then boots and sweater until she was down to just her Christmas pajamas. You’d thought they were adorable when you picked them out but even more so when you’d put them on her and so you and Fred had decided to just keep her in them for the day, knowing you weren’t planning to leave your home. The rest of the night passed rather uneventfully, the three of you spending the evening parked right where you’d expected, on the couch with hot chocolate watching Miracle on 34th Street and White Christmas before putting the baby to bed at the usual time. It had been a bit harder than usual to get her down but finally, after the excitement of the day, she fell into a fairly deep sleep in her crib. Once she had finally fallen asleep you made your way back to your husband in the living room, flopping ungracefully down next to him on the sofa, sighing deeply and resting against his very large frame. He chuckled to himself as you settled yourselves into a comfortable position, enjoying the silence of the moment together, his breathing quiet and the TV on low in the background. The Christmas tree in the corner provided the only source of light aside from whatever movie was playing, each of the ornaments telling its own story of a memory special to your little family. “Do you remember our second Christmas together, right after we got engaged? When our families met for the first time and our brothers spent the entire day chirping us for how ‘sickeningly in love’ we were?” you broke the quiet of the room and Fred laughed in reply. “Yeah and my mom insisting she help yours in the kitchen, which ended up in the two of them getting drunk together and accidentally burning the rolls.” You both laughed then, remembering your fathers waving dish towels and opening windows to try to stop the beeping of the smoke detector. “Yeah, that one. I think that was the first time I realized how much I was looking forward to having a family of our own. I remember thinking about sitting on the couch with our little girl, giggling with her while we watched you chase our little boy around the room. I wanted that so badly. And now we have it and I don’t think I could be any happier.” It was the truth. From the time you’d begun dating to now, through five years, a marriage and then a baby, your relationship had only strengthened. It wasn’t perfect, no relationship ever was, but it was perfect for you two. You’d grown together through the hard times and laughed together through the good ones and all the while you felt more and more loved by him every day. There wasn’t a sight in the world that filled your heart more than watching Fred with your baby. You had a family, one you’d hoped for since you were a little girl playing house with your sister, and you had created that family with a man who loved you the way you’d always wanted and deserved to be loved. It wasn’t ever lost on you how lucky you were to have him by your side. He let you lose yourself in your thoughts for a minute before a warm hand on your cheek turned your face toward him and you met the eyes you’d fallen madly in love with. “Ik hou van je, schat. I do, I love you. You are the love of my life, and an incredible mother. I wouldn’t ever want to do this, to have a family with anyone else.” He kissed the top of your head and left you with that. Freddie had always been a man of fewer words but you didn’t need them, you felt it in everything he did. It wasn’t about how he told you, but how he showed you. You both sat curled together watching the fire for another moment before you stood, making your way to the tree and pulling a small envelope from behind it. Freddie’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you made your way back over to the couch. “Schat, what’s that? I thought we’d finished exchanging all our gifts this morning?” He’d presented you with a beautiful set of diamond earrings to replace the pair you had lost in your move to the new house in Toronto last year, and you had gifted him with a pair of tickets and a room confirmation for a trip to Greece in the coming summer, a destination that had been at the top of both of your bucket lists. This present, though, you’d hidden behind the tree to give to him after your daughter went to sleep, when the time felt right. You handed it to him and shrugged slightly, answering vaguely with a “just another little something, go on, open it.” He opened the envelope and pulled out the card, regarding it carefully until you encouraged him to read the writing on the inside out loud. The card was simple, white with a few red hearts adorning the front, empty on the inside. You’d written the message before you left town last week, working through tears as you did. The tears welled up again as he began to read and you tried willing them away, but it proved to be nearly impossible as you heard them build in his voice as well. “You’ll watch mommy’s belly each day as I grow, and then you’ll count my ten fingers and ten little toes. You’ll hold me when I cry and rock me to sleep, but stay with me until I’m not making a peep. With mommy and sister we’ll laugh and we’ll play, and you’ll get to watch me grow every day. I’ll be there cheering at all of your games, until it’s time for me to hit the ice just the same. I can’t wait to meet you so very soon, so I’ll see you and mommy this coming June.” You were both quietly crying by the time he was done reading the card and he clutched it tightly in his hand, closing his eyes to collect his thoughts before he finally addressed you again. “Really? You’re pregnant?” You only had the chance to nod before he was up off the couch, bringing you in tightly to his body as you both tried to rein in your emotions. “I found out about a week before we left. We have the first ultrasound as soon as we get back to Toronto.” You pulled back slightly, making eye contact before you continued, “I’m so fucking happy, Fred. I’m so excited to have another baby with you. Are you happy?” “Happy? Schat, I’m elated. I can’t wait to watch you be a mother again, to bring another life into this world with me. I love you. I’m so happy.” You embraced for a few minutes longer before retiring to your bedroom, and the soft, gentle sex had you falling asleep with a small smile on your face. You slept for only a few hours before you were awoken by the giggles of your first baby from the living room, the bed empty next to you and the clock on the nightstand reading 1:47 AM. You made your way toward the sound where you found Freddie bouncing your daughter on his lap, both of them apparently unable to sleep and watching cartoons on the television set. Standing in the doorway watching them with your hand placed over your still mostly flat stomach, the excitement of giving her a baby brother or sister grew in you once more, the same visions of Freddie chasing another little one around the room that you’d had three years ago now popping back into your head. You knew that he would love this baby in the same way that he loved the one currently perched on his knee, so deeply that you saw it in every moment he spent with her. Next Christmas would be just as special as the last five with him had been, and just as special as all of those still yet to come.

#f. andersen #freddie andersen #freddie andersen imagine #freddie andersen fanfic #hockey imagine #hockey fanfic #nhl imagine #nhl fanfic #nhl writing #hockey writing #toronto maple leafs imagine #toronto maple leafs fanfic #my writing

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crimson-dxwn · 4 years ago

Text

AT ODDS 6 (Kal Skirata x F!OC)

Summary: Tea gets spilled at Kyrimorut. Ordo gets involved. Ori makes a choice and a new enemy.

Warnings: Mando profanity, pregnancy, SPOILERS for Republic Commando books (all but the last one), medical shit, surgery, fucking SADS

As always, so many thanks to @detroitbydark who lets me screech about my weird fic and Kal and Ori! Also this is barely edited be kind, I’m on my psych rotation and barely scraping by.

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Kal realizes he’s slipped the figurine into the pocket of his bodysuit semi-consciously in his hasty retreat from the apartment. Knotted Jonah wood whittled smooth forms two stylized figures, one large and one small, their hands joined between them.

He barely registers the ride back home and comming Mij. They need a plan, and they need one fast if they are going to find her. He knows little about how the Empire treats their prisoners compared to the late Republic, but he isn’t about to have any illusions of honor or fair play. After all, he doesn’t play fair himself. But there’s a hydrospanner thrown into the mix. What he doesn’t know is how the Imps treat prisoners with … unique health conditions. Or if they even give half a bantha’s shebs. Odds are they send men and women alike to those osik’la camps he’s gotten word of. Yeah, the Empire was equal opportunity like that.

If Mereel can’t slice into the system remotely, they were going to have to do an old-fashioned infiltration. He’d ask his ad’ike if they were up to task, there’s no way he could ask to put them in danger, not after the entirety of their lives being war. It hurts him to even think about asking. But he has to do this, even if it’s just his sorry shebs.

He tries to put on a good Sabaac face when he’s back in the karyai, discreetly gathering up all the surplus weapons they have that he finds might be useful for an infiltration into a heavily armed and fortified position.

Mereel of course, catches on within minutes.

“You’re going to find her,” Mereel interrupts. Kal yanks his head up out of the gun locker to look at his son. “And you didn’t even think to ask for backup?”

His son’s tone is accusing, edging on hurt. That he did not expect.

“It’s my fuckup, son,” he replies, “I’m the one who needs to fix it. I can’t ask you to do this.”

“What’s so special about this doctor?” Mereel slams the door of the locker shut. It’s obvious his ad’ika is protective. They all are.

“She delivered your ba’vodu’ad, Mereel. I’m pretty sure she saved Parja’s life.” Kal says, keeping his eyes on his work, cleaning the weapons, arranging the ammo he needs. Sharpening his father’s three-sided knife.

“And that’s enough to go up against the Empire? ”

He’s going to have to spit it out. Mereel is looking at him expectantly, sure that he’s going to change his mind, see reason.

“She’s pregnant, son.” Mereel, who has been away for the events of the last few months, just stares back at him in a puzzled fashion, brows slightly furrowed. Looking at him like he’s lost his damn mind. Maybe he has.

“It’s yours, isn’t it?”

In comes a second voice, and the accusatory tone startles him enough that, when added to his baseline urgency and anxiety, causes his hand to slip and nick itself as he sharpens his knife.

“Osik,” he hisses, holding pressure to the cut as blood wells, looking up to the figure in the doorway. Ordo. Mereel stares at his brother, unsure whether he is joking. Kal sighs. He should know better, trying to keep things from them. The last time he was successful at that was when they were four.

“Does it matter?”

“Maybe,” Ordo replies, just this edge of indignant, “is she carrying my vod?”

A strange and protective piece of him flares at Ordo’s tone and Kal stands, still holding the cloth to his cut hand.

“Most likely.”

“Then we need to get her back.” Ordo meets his eye finally and Kal nods, satisfied, and starts gathering ammo from the safes. This time Mereel moves to help, still in a rare state of stunned silence.

By the time they’ve gathered what they need and loaded it into aayhan, Mereel has a willing team assembled and what they know of the building schematics up on a datapad in the karyai. Fortunately for them, the team won’t be breaking into any prison blocks, which are bound to be heavily guarded.

“All we have to do is get into the information security room that houses the main terminal,” Mereel starts confidently. “We can stay far away from the security blocks and the bucketheads.”

“Though it would be fun to bust some vode out of there,” Scorch adds.

“Not our mission,” says Mereel, regret plain in his voice, “we’ll have to get them another time.” The realization that they were leaving prisoners at the mercy of the empire sobers the group even more. It was becoming more and more apparent that more planning was needed before they could root out the Empire on Mandalore. Meanwhile, Kal had set Uthan to the task of trying desperately to make their own homebrew vaccine.

---

It’s been many many years since he’s fastroped. Lately, he has been finding that it’s been years since he’s done many things. Fastroping, underwater diving...fathering kriffing kids. He swallows, hard and regroups himself. Every single one of them needs to be focused if they’re gonna pull this job off.

Yes, he’s fast roped before. But he’s never liked it. Where his sons get twitchy when confined to tight spaces, he finds himself sweating more than usual under his beskar the more stories they climb. Right now, they’re about ten stories up, far above the sensors of the garrison and way above his tolerance for heights. They have about a minute to pull this off before the Imps realize this transport is lingering too long in their airspace.

Mereel, Sev, Scorch, and Kal are in Aayhan, hovering silently above the Keldabe imperial garrison in the inky black late summer night. The humidity sticks his tactical garments to his skin, making it itch and crawl in addition to his surging adrenaline. That was one thing that never changed, no matter how old he got, no matter how many missions he’s finished - that nauseating spike of pure fear and bliss.

He gives the signal to move move move and soon he’s roping down, strong north Mandalorian wind whipping around him, soaking through his underlayer. The four of them land silently on the roof of the compound, and Scorch starts laying a strip charge along the floor to create a hole leading below, straight into the admin offices. Four sets of Mando armor gleam lowly in the moonlight. It’s a perfect night for an op like this, whipping wind obscuring any slight noise they did make and the faint whine of aayhan’s engines. The charges detonate with a controlled bang and flash of bright light that briefly blinds his HUD. Kal switches to night vision.

*His child*. It’s barely a concrete concept in his mind yet, but an instinctual piece of him knows the truth. The timing is too perfect for him to be wrong. The way Orla had looked at him in the med center…

The stakes are too high to fail, and distracting thoughts get men killed. Mereel leads the way through the door, rifle at the ready, and Kal banishes his musings to the back of his mind, pushed away by a fresh rush of adrenaline. It’s a stealth mission, and they navigate by night vision, as silently as their boots will allow.

They stalk through dark quiet hallways lined with innocuous office doors until they reach the end, what is presumably the CO’s office, with its durasteel double doors and obviously larger size.

Mereel starts in on slicing the door panel while Sev shoots out the camera in the hallway corner while the rest of them listen for any approaching patrols. It was only a matter of time before someone noticed they were there, whether it was the hole in the roof or the blacked out camera. The double doors open quietly and they head inside. Vau’s boys guard the door while he and Mereel crowd the desk in the middle of the room.

“I need a few minutes to get into this,” Mereel says, eyes locked onto the screen before him. One of his slicing tools is between his teeth.

“You’ll get it, son. We’ll take care of anything that tries to get in our way.”

So far it looks like no one has noticed them. The imps must really be confident in the plan to neutralize Mandalore with so few guards and patrols. Sweat drops trickle down the back of his neck and into his bodysuit.

Mereel studies the datapad stripping the system for a few more moments and turns it towards Kal. There’s a concerned look stretched across his handsome face. Together the watch the recorded scene on the screen before them.

There’s Orla, still in her work clothes, talking with an Imp who’s behind this very desk, flanked by two stormtroopers. He knows those gestures - she’s spitting mad, barely containing the fury that was directed toward the man behind the desk. Without audio he can only guess as to the contents of their conversation. The Imp behind the desk gives a short reply and nods curtly to the right-hand trooper who, without hesitation, raises his blaster rifle and cracks her across the face with the butt end. She doesn’t even see it coming. Even in the shades of blue from the holoprojector the blood is obvious, trickling down the side of her face.

Kal is livid, trembling so finely it’s barely visible, and he almost forgets where they are for a moment. Deep in enemy territory, with hostiles incoming any minute.

Mereel makes a disgusted noise from deep in his chest as they watch her be pushed to the ground. They follow the video feed where she’s led to a cell. His breath catches. There’s a chance she’s still here. His hope is tempered, however, when an alarm starts to sound from within the garrison. A patrol must have finally found their breach point.

“Sarge?” warns a voice from outside the door. It’s Sev, by the gravelly tone.

“Almost finished,” he shouts, over the screeching din. Mereel continues to work furiously, his bulk hunched over the console. He’s able to parse through incredible amounts of data with immense precision; Kal can practically feel the concentration rolling off him.

“Wait,” Mereel says. Kal looks over at the screen. They’re centered on a video feed again, this time outside. The sheer amount of prisoners in line for the transport is shocking enough, but the fact that none of them are in armor is even more appalling. The Imps are slowly stripping their culture away, plate by plate.

“She’s not on the manifest for this transport, even though the records say she leaves.”

It doesn’t make sense. Unless… Kal knows Mereel must be thinking the same as him. Judging by the brutality of the footage they’ve watched, the stories from around the planet, he wouldn’t put it past the Empire to take care of a pesky problem in the easiest way they knew how. It wasn’t something that supposedly peaceful, orderly governments liked to keep records of. His dread and guilt intensifies, leadening his limbs already weighed down by heavy beskar.

He chokes the words out. He has to know. “Is there any footage of…” Kal can’t bring himself to say them. It doesn’t need to be said, Mereel knows what he’s looking for. He’s been in a war zone long enough to know that armies aren’t sentimental.

“No, no footage. Just them leading her away.” The alarm continues to blare. It could be minutes, seconds before they have to blast their way out.

“Here.”

Kal steels himself to watch. It’s his fault, he reminds himself again. Two more fresh marks in his ledger. His arm reaches automatically to his son’s to steady himself. He feels Mereel’s slump ever so slightly, whether it’s in relief or defeat, he can’t tell.

“I have what I need,” he says, “time to go. Debrief can wait for later.” Distant footsteps start to echo towards them, modulated shouts following close behind. They were about to be grossly outnumbered, by the sound of it. Kal shoves his helmet back on, heading through the doorway and signaling Sev and Scorch to follow.

They wind through the garrison, avoiding both patrols and squads of stormtroopers sweeping the building. It’s laughably easy compared some of the other heists they’ve pulled - except he speaks too soon. As they make their way out of the back door of the garrison onto the Keldabe streets, one squad catches up to them. Ordo has aayhan back at Kyrimorut - earlier they had decided it was too risky for the four of them to fly home and possibly expose the homestead. So instead their plan was to run the winding streets and strategically borrow a transport. The problem is that Kal is pushing sixty and the other men are - physiologically at least - still in their early twenties. They’re a lot kriffing faster than him, even with his ankle fixed.

The streets and alleys twist and turn, switching from ancient cobbles to smooth duracrete without warning. Easy enough to get lost if you’re a local, they are impossible to navigate as aruettiise. Soon the four are panting, ducked into an alcove off a cobbled alley. Finally, it seems they’ve dodged the patrol. Only time will tell if they were recognized. Kal finds he doesn’t much mind if they know his face. In fact, he hopes they do. He wants to meet that garrison officer.

-------

Imperial Rehabilitation Center

Weeks later

19 BBY

Life isn’t all doom and gloom. They are kept...occupied. Like rats in a maze. Ori shares a bunk with another Mandalorian, the only other there. Taren is a kid really, small and slight except for her distended belly. It’s obvious she’s used to wearing armor by the way she walks, how upright she holds herself, arms swaying slightly away from her body. And how she closes in on herself when she realizes it’s not there, when it’s nighttime in their room and thinks Ori can’t hear her sob breathlessly into her pillow every night.

It’s almost childish, the way they’re herded from room to room. Chaperoned and on a schedule, like one would handle a naughty child needing extra discipline. It was how she imagines Coruscanti boarding schools some of her medical school classmates attended - polished stone floors and crisp uniforms, all strict routines and synchronized repetition. It’s meant to numb the mind, making days run into weeks. She suspects they’re kept intentionally disoriented. After all, most of them are still political prisoners, and many she’s found have important connections on their respective homeworlds.

They’re at lunch, scattered around their assigned tables. Generously, they are allowed to converse during meals, though their seats remain assigned. The ‘rehab center’ has proven to be much more expansive than she expected - some rooms are swallowingly large, like the one she is in now, and some are as small as a broom closet, connected by narrow winding hallways. The building itself could have been any number of things in a past life - a school, factory, or prison. She supposes it doesn’t matter much now. Today there’s a newcomer, sitting quiet and sullen at a back table with the Corellians. Time would tell if she was one of them or if she hailed from a different world.

An arm jostles her, hitting her square in the ribs. It successfully knocks her out of her analysis of the newcomer.

“-did you hear what I just said?” Taren says, mouth full of tasteless nutritional paste. It’s far from delicious, but you ate what they give out and she is hungry *all the time* nowadays. A fleck lands on Ori’s face and she wipes it away with a raised eyebrow.

“Sorry, al’verde.” Commander. Her eyes roll automatically. She knows she doesn’t deserve the title. Discreetly, Ori shushes the younger woman - they’re lucky the stormtroopers here don’t understand Mando’a.

They put together kit for new stormtroopers, morning and night. It’s another endurable humiliation. She stabs at the cubes bitterly with her spoon, scattering crumbs across the table. They’re not allowed forks or knives, not after Taren’s first week. A tiny smile flits across her face as she thinks on the memory.

Ori feels like a geriatric compared to the spry warrior, though they’re less than ten years apart in age. She’s seen things in that time, lost people, buried dreams. Though Taren is looking older and older by the day, cooped up in this place.

“Theera is gone,” Taren says, “she wasn’t at breakfast either.”

Looking around and finding no sign of the woman, Ori hums an agreement. She’ll be gone for good soon, and her baby as well. Every time someone delivers it sends a sense of unshakeable dread down her spine and into the pit of her stomach. All of them are marching slowly towards that finish line.

The artificial hierarchy into which they are forced has made the two Mandalorians de facto leaders, despite Ori being one of the newer inmates and to cement her as *alverde*; her medical expertise makes her invaluable.

The room hushes as Dr. Loesch sweeps down to the cafeteria, all business in crisp grey scrubs, so confident in his admiration. He insists they call him ‘Doctor L’ like he’s a popular lecturer at a university. He’s the worst kind of hut’uun, just as bad as the rest of the Imps she’s met here. Loesch is in charge of their medical care, all 100-some of them, including herself. Loesch towers over most of them, even herself.

As a physician, Ori is personally insulted at his complacency, the fact that he is perfectly content in his post and cemented in his belief that what he was doing is just, his complicity. She stabs at her cubes some more to try and make herself feel better.

As a woman, she’s decidedly less surprised. Men like him are everywhere, tall and handsome, handed success on a silver platter, born into families of privilege and power. Taking and taking with no thought of the carnage they leave behind.

He saunters his way over to their table and sits with a charming smile.

“Beviin,” he starts, “I heard through the gossip chain that you were an obstetrician before you came here?”

It’s physically painful to keep her retort in hand. She’s been here long enough to see women sent to solitary. And to see them come back, changed indefinitely.

“Mmm,” she mumbles affirmatively through a mouthful of cubes. She swallows. “Yes.” Keep it simple, that’s easy enough.

He smiles sardonically. “How ironic,” he adds, obviously pleased with the revelation. Expectantly, he looks around the table to gauge his joke, and they catch on, laughing softly, nervously, afraid of what might happen if they don’t. Even Ori joins in, the butt of the low blow, though her simmering rage ratchets up another level.

They finish the rest of their lunch largely in silence and Loesch pulls her away when she files out with the others.

“Ms. Beviin,” he says conspiratorially, “I know it must be difficult for you to be here.”

The man over her, face too close for comfort, his voice deep and low. Alarm fills her as the other people in the room dwindle until it’s just the two of them and the scattered troopers on the upper level. All Ori can think about is where the nearest exit is located when she realizes he’s still speaking to her.

“...what do you think?” He waits patiently, a benevolent expression in his face. He blinks too little, she thinks, and his eyes are devoid of expression, shining with an amused sort of malevolence. They’re a strange shade of brown...no, green? The little noise he makes in the back of his throat brings her back to their conversation.

“Ah...sure?” she replies weakly, stunned and frozen.

“That’ll be nice for the other inmates,” he says. Incredibly white, straight teeth flash as he smiles down at her. “I think it will give them comfort to have you there. I’ll have the guards collect you when it’s time.”

——

Three nurses eye her from across the suite. They wear sweet matching hospital uniforms, in the same soft fabric as hers except in a delicate petal pink. With a pang, she misses her fellow nurses and doctors on Mandalore. Who knows how many had fallen ill? Been arrested? The way they clustered in a little group reminded her of her schoolmates, when they found out she didn’t like fighting, whispering rumors from across the room. That she thought she was better than them, that weird girl who was more concerned with grades than winning fights and impressing boys. Now they stand across the room from her like a little bunch of flowers in their coordinated outfits, identical and perfect. She’s an other in their world, someone to be feared and hated, pitied at best.

Orla stands awkwardly, waiting for the show to start when her stomach flips. The scrub top she has on stretches across her middle awkwardly, pulling at the seams and the soft shoes that cover her feet are obscured by her bump. The strange sensation returns, a little differently this time, just the barest flutter, deeper down than that nervous feeling. Her baby. She lays a gentle palm over the swell, as discreetly as she can, still feeling the scrutinizing looks of the women across the room.

Another nurse wheels a bed into the room, complete with Theera shivering atop it, her hair and gown drenched in sweat. Orla rushes to the head of the bed as she’s prepped for the operation. Theera is dazed, too exhausted to make much sense of anything right now, glassy eyes focused on the ceiling. She smoothes back the sweaty hair from Theera’s forehead.

“Hey cyar’ika. It’s Ori,” she says softly. The woman’s eyes focus a little, just enough to meet hers. She bumps their foreheads together. It was as much to comfort herself as much as the other woman. Non-mandos typically didn’t understand the meaning behind the gesture. She can’t squeeze her hand like she wants to - it’s being hooked up to IV tubing.

“I’m cold,” she mumbles. Some of it is adrenaline, some from fear, and the rest from the icy operating room temperature to keep the surgeons comfortable. Drenched as she is, it’s no wonder Theera is shivering.

Ori asks the wary tech for a warm blanket, terrified of overstepping and getting her shebs kicked out of the operating room. She’s promptly ignored in favor of his work. Dr. Loesch enters the room and the nurses titter around him while he ensures everything is prepped to his liking. Ori settles for as much skin to skin contact as she can get with Theera, trying to warm her, mumbling comforting nonsense into her ear as Loesch starts to work. A warming bassinet waits ominously against the wall for its prize.

A thin cry interrupts their mumbling and Theera’s eyes sharpen at the noise. Loesch holds the little thing over the curtain separating them indulgently, just for a moment. A boy, he says, and she and Theera find themselves mesmerized by the bloody little thing and his tiny squished face and flailing arms, already so angry at the world. He’s held up for a second, allowing Theera a cursory glance and then whisked away by the nurses to the bassinet. His mother is still paralyzed on the table and it makes it all the more unjust that she isn’t even allowed to touch her son, see him up close. The nurses at the bassinet laugh and coo, oblivious to Theera, who starts weeping pitifully. Fat tears slide down the side of her face, wetting the starched white sheet beneath her head.

Ori is in the middle of the absolute emotional chaos around her. Theera crying, Dr. Loesch talking with his assistant about weekend plans, and the nurses with the baby, who have turned back at the sound of crying to glare at them judgementally. She can practically hear them now. Serves her right, their looks say. She deserves it. The rage congeals around Ori, settling itself in her throat. This feeling is exactly what had put her in this place to begin with and she knows she has to control it, use it somehow. She watches them place a little bracelet around the infant’s ankle and scan it into a datapad. They don’t bother with Theera. It dawns on her then that if she’s lucky - incredibly lucky - she can use the Empire’s obsession with order against them.

She makes her way over to the bassinet under the ruse of joining the indulgent cooing that is going on, trying not to throw elbows before she’s kicked out of the room. The little boy’s leg is caught for a heel stick an she gets her chance. The number on the leg band is just visible, only for a second. She sends a prayer up to the Manda that she gets it right.

Taglist

@clonewarslover55 @simping-for-fives @808tsuika @jedi-mando @cherry-cokes-world @nelba @fractiouskat @passionofthesith

#PHEW THIS SUCKED TO WRITE UGH #how do people write long chaps like goddamn I'm drained and this took MONTHS #i suck basically lol #At Odds #Republic Commando #Kal Skirata

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crimsonfluidessence · 3 years ago

Text

Prompt 9: Friable

7:45 in the morning.

Each and every day, Esredes' alarm went off. He was not one with long startup lag- within a minute, he was always up and shutting his alarm off, dragging himself to the bathroom.

Brush your teeth, comb your hair back into those peculiar spikes, splash some water on your face- yes, perfect. And next came the closet, where Esredes mostly changed into the same repetition of outfits each day- all this time, and still he had not bothered to add much new.

Too much attention.

All this took ten minutes at most, and then he was downstairs. A quick breakfast came and went with a dose of orange juice, and he was putting on Heilyn's coat made for him like he did every morning, followed by the trusty messenger bag and sword. Long past were moments like the sheer embarrassment of shutting down on his floor or at his desk entirely- there was no time for suck weakness anymore.

The brisk and cold air of Foundation greeted Esredes as always, and he set out on the usual route to the Pillars. It was nice and quiet on his street, then it soon passed into the main streets of Foundation. Here and there on the way to work, there were sometimes eyes, stares in his direction, some which he noticed and some which he did not- but today he passed them by before his mind could begin to wander.

Ferrant's office space was always a safe escape from the outside world when he arrived- all of the man's office staff was friendly, Heilyn was the raggy-haired piece of shit he always was, and he could greet everyone and get to his office to write papers in peace. But today, Ferrant had a House of Lords person for him to go and talk to on his behalf, so Esredes didn't get to settle in to his office just yet, instead going back out the Pillars and right into another Lords' office.

"Good morning," Esredes said in his usual polite political work voice as he pushed his way into the office. Every time he went to another Lords' office, it hit him just how humble Ferrant was- and how not humble his former noble self was.

The older Elezen man looked up from his desk at Esredes with a calm indifference. "Good morning," he repeated back. "You're Durand's messenger, correct?"

"Correct," Esredes said, coming in and taking a seat, smoothing out the papers in his hands on the desk. "Lord Ferrant sends his regards he is too busy to see you in person as of now, but expect a letter within the next couple weeks for a request for a lunch appointment. Now, here is the papers he requested of you to look over," Esredes turned them around on the desk and slid them forward to the man, then set his hands clasped in his lap as he watched the man read it over with a careful, scrunched up look on his face.

It took him a long moment before he finally spoke. "...I see." He started with. "And tell me, is Lord Ferrant aware of the greater implications a proposal like this would have on the city?"

"It depends on what you mean by that," Esredes said. "But I like to believe he does know, yes. No proposal of his is without careful consideration, after all."

"The way I see it, it's exactly proposals like this which threaten the stability of the public." He put the papers down, shut his eyes, and let out a long sigh. "Is Lord Ferrant not aware how dangerous it is already for our knights most holy to deal with the remnants of Nidhogg's horde? The system in place is perfectly fine for dealing with the heretics who defected to that monster."

"It's not exactly about that," Esredes said. "It's about those who were kidnapped and forced into his ranks, you see, when he writes prisoner of-"

"The Temple Knights are already at risk of being mauled and turned by the knights who get to them." The Lord said. "You cannot ask them to change their procedures without putting countless lives at risk." He smiled at Esredes. "Send Lord Ferrant my regards, but I am not interested in more of this proposal of his. Now, what else does he have to speak of?"

Esredes forced a smile back. "Very well," he said as he took the papers back into his hands. "Then I believe we can cut right to the next proposal on the House floor..."

When he exited that building and went back out into the streets, Esredes let out a sigh and looked over the papers in his hands. Heilyn and himself had been working on that one for so many weeks now, and this was the fifth test subject it had failed without any room for further conversation. How many more rewrites did they need to make this worth any consideration?

Lunch hour was already approaching, and so Esredes decided to make his way down towards the Crozier. He was near enough that he could pick something up and bring it back to the office, and then he'd have just enough time to report the results and get his work in order before his hour break for a client coming in. It was already getting crowded, however, so Esredes opted to pick a stall with a decent line just to save time instead of his usual go tos. The merchant was selling little meat pies that overwhelmed Esredes' nostrils even from this distance back, and it was rare Esredes wasn't in the mood for them. "Hi," he said with a smile when it was his turn in line, taking the gil out from his pouch. "Two, please." He set it on the counter and slid it over.

The Hyur man gave him a peculiar stare as he did so, and Esredes had to keep his smile from faltering. "Sorry, I think it's best you look elsewhere. Stock's limited, and my usual customers show up around now."

Esredes blinked a couple times, staring back at the man before glancing down at his gil and slowly taking it back in his hand. How the hell did this random merchant even know? "Very well, my apologies for the inconvenience." Esredes replied, and off he did as he did best and disappeared into the crowd.

He ended up with a smoked Dodo sandwich instead, carrying it in a box in his hand as he made his way out of the Crozier and back towards the office. Yet as he passed by one tall and light individual on the street, he did a double take and stopped, looking back with a faint smile of recognition. "Good afternoon, Squire of the Axe." He called to the young man, recognizing one of the individuals from the Fourth Temple Knight Company he sort of tolerated, sort of didn't. While others had revealed his real name to him, he still felt the man would scorn him if he tried using it yet. "Hope you're having a decent one. Take care."

Gerivien turned around and stared at Esredes with a look Esredes recognized well out of the man by now- that of burning, unfiltered hatred. It couldn't decide consistently if it wanted to be there or soften on any given interaction, and his mouth twitched downwards.

"Mind yer fuckin' business." Gerivien said, and turned on and kept right on walking with that.

"Until another time!" Esredes called his way with a smirk before moving on. Ah, Gerivien was a hot and cold one- some days he got that, other days the man revealed his soft side he denied existing and something more interesting happened- but today he didn't have time for an interesting moment, so take his opportunity to annoy the Squire it was.

Esredes had lunch alone in his office to make up for the extended length of time that Lord had spent talking about his thoughts on the latest House proposal, munching away on the dodo sandwich while finishing up a paper. Then as 12:55 approached, he stood up and moved to the kitchen, pouring a glass of water and then navigating to the Blue Room instead, setting it down on the side table and opening a drawer to take out his binder and fake pair of glasses, slipping the glasses on and settling into his chair. The 1:00 slot was a vague name of 'Red' simply written down on the sheet, and Esredes wasn't sure who this person was at all, but a new client was always kind of exciting nonetheless. He settled in, put a bright smile on his face for the client's entry- and in came a face he did not in fact, not recognize.

Ivarault Vairemont.

He had never spoken to the man personally, but he knew him well, or so he thought- because the man had started a fight most times he saw him, including one with a dear friend of his, and he knew for a fact this man literally wanted to kill him. He was that sort of ex-Dragoon, the kind who wanted his eliminated and nothing more.

Esredes' bright smile dropped in an instant. His free hand went to his pocket, the one that kept the airborne, powder based sleeping agent in a little vial just in case. "What... what are you doing here."

Suddenly, Esredes realized just how much he took Pyralis' mediocre presence for granted.

Though the man had relatively behaved himself for a change, Esredes left that session feeling drained nonetheless. Back to work it was, until the hour of 5:00 hit.

There he was to switch out of his civilian mode and back into what lurked beneath the surface. He left work, went home, changed into his armor he wore into battles as a harrier, and slipped on his helmet as he departed for the Central Highlands. He had a meeting with an interested party about the ways of Iceheart's people, and he meant to represent his people well.

At least, that's what he planned to do. Instead, his tale of Iceheart's struggles, mixed with those of his own and that of the movement all together, was met with an angry response from the masked individual.

"And was it heroic when you allowed the wyverns into the city?" The lady said. "When you slaughtered those people merely delivering goods to their destination?"

Esredes could do nothing but blink. "No." He said. "It wasn't. I never tried to imply it was."

"There is nothing heroic about your people, as you so call them." The lady continued on, taking a step closer to him. "You are no better than the knights you keep bringing up. You spilled blood to summon a primal, and what did it accomplish? Nothing."

"It accomplished the end of the goddamn war!" Esredes retorted back, taking a step forward and curling up his fists. "If she hadn't stopped that Garlean ship, the Archbishop would have plunged the land into chaos. You and all of those pathetic Warriors owe her for your continued peaceful existence, but no, you can't even be bothered to acknowledge that much!"

The lady narrowed her eyes at him with a look of pure disgust. "You will never be anything but a monster," she said, and then she began to walk away.

Well, that was the second time this year one of these people pretending to hear the other side had turned sour when they heard exactly that. Lovely. Esredes let out a sigh and waited for her to be far enough away, then transformed and flew away.

He found himself at a bar later on in the night, 8:30. It had been a day, and he needed to grab a bottle or two before he went home. Content was he to mind his own business, but soon himself approached by a man, a specific type of man he knew the second he put his eyes on. They always had some kind of shit eating grin on their face and were only there to take an unwanted and creepy interest in you.

"What are you so down about?" The man asked about three lines into the conversation.

"I'm Ishgardian."

The man chuckled to that. "That you might, but it's no reason to have such a stick up your arse, yes? Why don't you loosen up a little and maybe you wouldn't seem so down?"

Esredes wanted to sigh all the way down into Witchdrop and then some. "I think I know what I'm doing, thank you. Please feel free to bother someone more interesting."

"Whatever you say, asshole." The man remarked, and as he turned to leave he pushed Esredes right in the abdomen with one hand, causing him to stumble back against the table and spill part of his drink onto his face. A few people in the bar laughed at the sight.

Without a word, Esredes turned and left the bar in a hurry.

When he collapsed into bed that night at 1:34 AM, he felt like he weighed a thousand pounds, yet he stretched his arms out on the bed and shut his eyes, releasing a long breath.

You did it, he told himself. You made it through the day. Another one down, gods know many left.

A lot of emotions swirled up within him, but what went up must come down. Esredes shoved them all back down to the bottom, and stared at the ceiling in complete apathy until he fell asleep.

He was stronger than the world. Other people could break and fracture, but he would remain here, just as he was.

There was no time today for being delicate and picking himself up. Tomorrow, maybe, but for now he was off to dreamland.

-- @heartofthefury / @thecalmnessandthestorms Ferrant/Heilyn

Lori for Gerivien Arius for Ivarault @1emon-vii for Pyralis

#writing #in action #heilyn #ferrant #gerivien #ivarault #ffxivwrite2021 #pyralis #shiva #ysayle #screenshots #fancy coat attire

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steppedoffaflight · 4 years ago

Text

Summer’s a Knife - Christmas Oneshot

If you haven’t already, read Summer’s a Knife here!

While it’s true Van was doing his part to make today worse for you, Christmas Eve is always stressful. There’s the delayed flights home, and dealing with your parents bombarding you with questions while you struggle with jetlag. And then there’s the hour drive in the snow to your aunt’s home, where you’ll interact with all of your aunts and uncles and cousins that you only see once for the entire year, and you’ll have to navigate awkward small talk for hours before making the snowy drive back home, where you’re staying at your parent’s.

Van wants to make a good impression.

Word count: ~8.4k

December 2020

“Van!” You shout from the porch, your freshly-styled hair being ruffled by the cold winter wind whipping around. “You don’t need to be doing that! Ben will be here soon!”

Van acts like he hasn’t heard, the crunch of the snow shovel colliding with the cement echoing around the neighborhood before Van heaves up a shovel of fresh snow, tossing it to the side.

“Van!” You call again, your voice bouncing off of the neighbor’s homes. “Get in the fucking house!”

Van stands up straight, the back of his gloved hand wiping his forehead. The light from the porch illuminates the snow in his hair. “Someone’s gotta do it!” He calls back.

“Okay, but not you! And not right now, when you need to get ready!” You gesture at him. “You’re soaked!”

“I’m already almost done!” Van argues, gesturing to the clean path of sidewalk behind him, even though it’s currently snowing and his work will probably be undone by morning. “Just gimme a min!”

You spin around, retreating into the warmth of the house. You hadn’t realized your mom was in the front room, and your cheeks are pink from a mix of the cold, your frustration, and embarrassment.

“He’s so stubborn!” You sigh to her in exasperation, trying to brush off the snowflakes that had fallen on your hair. Thankfully the awning of the porch had kept most of them away.

“You two are perfect for each other,” Your mom jokes, checking her reflection in the decorative mirror on the wall.

You offer her a joking glare, and she turns to you with a smile.

“He just wants to make a nice first impression,” She says, heading for the coat closet.

“Okay, well I think a great first impression would be him looking presentable to go to the family Christmas party,” You snap, your stress starting to bubble over.

You don’t wait for your mother to defend Van again, retreating back into the bathroom to continue getting ready.

As you sit there touching up your foundation and fixing a few curls that have fallen out of place you simmer over the fact Van was still outside getting pelted with snow. It had all started over a harmless conversation with your mom about how your dad was getting older, and that since Ben was staying over tonight for Christmas morning with the family maybe you two should ask him to shovel the snow tomorrow. But your mom was right; in the name of trying to impress your parents Van had suddenly set his mind on helping, throwing his winter gear on before you’d even realized what was happening. Now your brother was going to be arriving any moment as your ride to the family party, and Van was outside looking like he was at the end of a set.

“We’re leaving!” You dad calls, and you hear the front door opening, your mom trailing behind him. “Van? What the hell are you doing out here?”

“He’s shoveling, honey,” You hear your mom pipe up cheerfully, and you glare at your reflection in the mirror.

“Oh, Van, you don’t have to do that!” You hear your dad call, but can’t hear Van’s response. No doubt something charming.

Then the house goes quiet, your parents setting off ahead of you, your brother, and Van to your aunt’s house.

You’re fussing with your sweater dress, which is itchy and clinging to your body in all the wrong places when you hear the heavy thud of Van’s boots coming back into the house. Your phone vibrates on the sink with a text from Ben: be there in twenty.

The bathroom door opens cautiously to reveal a sopping Van leaving puddles of muddy snow water on the hall floor.

“Can you show me how to use your shower?” He asks, already starting to strip off his coat.

You take a deep breath, channeling all your willpower not to strangle him.

“I know you’re stressed,” Van pleads from the bathroom, where- as always- he’s rushing to finish getting ready.

“You’re the one stressing me out!” You exclaim from the kitchen. “He’s gonna be here any minute!”

“I’m almost ready!” Van cries, and then the roar of the blowdryer drowns him out. You bury your head in your hands.

The fact that Van was included in all of these plans only raised everything to higher stakes; your parents have spent the year bragging about their daughter’s amazing new boyfriend without having really met him besides a handful of Zoom calls to during the pandemic this summer. Now is the first time they’ll be able to form an actual opinion about him, and the pressure of it has made you sick to your stomach for a week. And now he’s got to meet just about every single family member on your mom’s side, and manage to impress them, too.

You’ve had multiple stress fantasies about Van whisking you two away to London, where you opt for a Christmas alone rather than with either of your families. You imagine how much more enjoyable the holidays would be without all of this pressure before you feel guilty imagining how hurt your family would be if they didn’t get this quality time with you. Curse you for being such a good daughter.

You’re trying to focus on your breathing to keep yourself from having a panic attack or dissolving into a fit of tears when your phone vibrates against the kitchen table, startling you.

“Sorry, there was an accident on the highway,” Ben says in lieu of a greeting. “But I’m pulling up right now.”

“Okay, we’ll be out,” You promise, the two of you hanging up quickly. You immediately get up to wait in the front room.

“My brother’s pulling up! C’mon!” You yell in the direction of the hallway, Van emerging right on cue.

You didn’t know how he would pull it off, but he has: The man standing in front of you now is worlds away from the one that just shoveled your parent’s snow. His hair is dried, parted nicely in its usual side part and falling in perfect waves. He’s got a crisp white button up on, not a wrinkle in sight, and the black blazer he just had drycleaned slung over his shoulders. And no Van McCann outfit is complete without the dark jeans and his trusty boots.

“Good?” He asks, giving you a quick spin.

“Wait, turn around again,” You direct him, leaning forward to pick a white fuzzball stuck on his blazer. “Perfect.” You break out into a relieved grin looking up at him.

It feels like ten pounds of stress have melted off your shoulders. Any annoyance that had been bouncing around in your chest immediately dissipates in the name of making this holiday drama-free. Van was ready, he looked incredible, and there was no reason to dwell on the last few stressful hours.

“Thank you for shoveling the snow,” You blurt out. Maybe it had been the most inconvenient timing, but it had made him look like the perfect gentleman in front of your parents.

“I just want them to like me,” Van confesses, leaning down for a quick kiss. “That’s all.”

“Everyone likes you,” You roll your eyes at him before heading back to the kitchen for your purse. When you come back there’s the yellow beam of headlights shining against the front of your house, Ben’s car idling expectantly.

Van’s hand comes to rest on your lower back as you two step outside, you taking a moment to lock the front door. He keeps his hand there the entire walk down the driveway to the car, determined to keep you steady in the slush starting to develop.

“Hi,” You greet your brother breathlessly as you slide into the backseat, Van holding the door open for you. “Excited for the party?”

Ben snorts. It’s a hypothetical question, of course. He felt the same way about the Christmas Eve party as you did. Van’s body slides into the seat next to yours before the door closes with a thud.

“Ben, this is Van, obviously,” You laugh, and Van leans forward through the space between the front seats to shake Ben’s hand.

“You’re dating someone?” Ben jokes, kicking the car into reverse. “Mom and dad never mentioned. Not once, this whole year. Especially not in relation to me still being single.”

Even Van laughs at that. You shuffle around in your seat, trying to get comfortable for the ride. Ben taking care of the drive to your aunt’s meant that you could drink, and you intended to have some wine to wash down the day you’ve had. It feels like it’s already been ten lifetimes since you’d gotten off the plane this morning.

“Now, your mother-” Your Aunt Sallie pauses as she swallows down the bacon-wrapped hors d'oeuvre that had been sitting on the tiny paper plate in one of her shaking hands. “-She said you were bringing home a boy this year!”

“Oh, yeah,” You laugh nervously, glancing around. Van had said he had to use the bathroom and you’d been unable to spot him since. “He’s around here somewhere.”

“Now, what’s he do?” Sallie asks, leaving a dark lipstick stain on the rim of her plastic cup. When she’s done taking a sip of her punch she sets it back on the end table the couch is nestled against. She’s waiting for your answer, not noticing the way her cup knocks a small trinket off of the table and onto the plush carpet. You have no idea what it was or whether it’s broken, so you quickly push it from your mind.

You smile politely. “He’s a songwriter, actually.”

Over the course of your year dating Van you’ve struggled to navigate the ‘what does he do’ question with everyone: coworkers, family, the occupation dropdown menu on internet forms that need information about who you’re living with. Musician sounded strange; Yes, Van could always be found gravitating towards pianos in hotel lobbies or any guitar within sight. But that didn’t fully encompass the way he was performing and writing entire studio albums. And ‘he’s in a band’ could go either way; most people in L.A. were, and figured Van was some unsigned act. On the flip side, people wanted you to rattle off Catfish’s discography to see if they knew any of the songs, and started Googling them immediately. You’ve started to opt for songwriter, a way to honor Van’s favorite talent of yours without making too big of a fuss.

“Oh?” You aunt tilts her head in interest. “Is he an accountant too?”

You chew the inside of your cheek awkwardly. Your Aunt Sallie has never remembered you actually worked in marketing and was nowhere close to being an accountant. “No, I didn’t meet him in the office.”

“Meet who in the office?” Van pipes up in the doorway to the sitting area.

You had been sitting with your body turned toward your aunt, but at Van’s voice your body instinctually turns toward him, your shoulders draining of tension you hadn’t even known you’d been feeling. “You,” You smile up at him.

“Oh, no thanks. You’ll never catch me in an office,” Van grins, approaching you two and immediately extending his hand for a handshake. He’s gotten warm since being in the house, his blazer slung over his left arm. His white button up is a bit too transparent, and your eyes wander over the dark chest hair that’s slightly visible where the top buttons are undone.

Your aunt scrambles to set aside her empty paper plate before reaching a weathered hand out to grasp Van��s.

“I’m Y/N’s Aunt Sallie,” She introduces herself cheerfully. “I’m afraid your name’s slipped my mind, though.”

“I’m Van,” you listen to him repeat for the hundredth time tonight. “And Y/N has told me a lot about you,” He informs her politely. You struggle to hold back a sarcastic snort; what you’ve really done is warn him about her.

“Oh, Van,” Aunt Sallie smacks her lips together in thought as Van unclasps her hand. “That’s a lovely name.”

“It’s after Van Morrison,” Van boasts, his chest puffing out slightly. Your heart swells in endearment like it always does at his pride for his father’s nickname for him. You’ve even been sworn to secrecy about his legal name in front of your family.

Van and Aunt Sallie are just engaging in conversation about Van’s namesake when you hear commotion coming from the other room. Right on cue, your mother pops her head into the living room. “Ham’s done!”

“Finally,” You sigh in relief, smoothing your dress down as you get up from your seat at the couch. You were absolutely starving.

Sallie stands up as well, knocking a small portrait of Aunt Stephanie’s dog off of the end table. Van lets her head for the kitchen first, hanging back for a moment with you.

“Hungry?” He asks, rubbing his palm over your back in a comforting gesture. Your shoulders drop tension again.

“Yeah,” You tell him quietly. “Do you want to hang that up first?”

“Sure,” Van nods. “It’s sweltering in here.”

You take the long way to your aunt’s kitchen, leading Van to the coat closet by the front door before you two meet up with everyone else crammed around the kitchen counters loading up paper plates with Christmas Eve dinner.

You grab two plates that are stuck together, unsticking the bottom one and passing it over to Van. You two work in quiet harmony as you take turns spooning portions of different foods onto your plates, Van occasionally asking questions about ingredients. By the time you two are at the end of the makeshift counter buffet your plate is sagging with the weight of your cut of the ham, the steaming mashed potatoes and gravy, the two different casseroles you’d managed to fit, and some various finger foods you’d carefully piled on top of each other.

The dining table is a handful of seats short from being able to fit everyone, but your parents have graciously reserved two seats across from them that you and Van slide into, your younger cousin musing out loud about where she should sit with her girlfriend. You watch them head for the sitting room you had just left, which is empty now.

“So, Van,” Your mom starts, popping a forkful of ham into her mouth. “I see you’ve met Sallie.”

Van laughs quietly, nodding. “I did, yeah. For a moment.”

Aunt Sallie is quite tame now, but she’s forever been the troublemaker among your mom and her sisters, and gets louder and more obnoxious with each visit to the punchbowl. She also lacks any concept of privacy or personal space, something you experienced last year when she had you cornered in the hall by the bathroom, pestering you to tell her how much you make a year. You cringe to imagine Van experiencing the same scenario.

“No spot for me?” Ben asks behind your seat. Van twists to face him, a drop of gravy resting on the corner of his mouth.

“Oh, wait, babe,” You pause him without a second thought, reaching for your own napkin. “You’ve got something on your face.”

Van blinks at you in confusion, still chewing a bite of his potatoes as you reach forward to quickly wipe the gravy away. When you’re done Van has finished swallowing down his food.

“You can have this seat,” He insists, nodding to his plate. He starts gathering up his plastic silverware in one of his hands.

“Don’t do that,” Ben insists. “I’ll go sit over there.” He nods to a fold up card table looking out of place in Aunt Stephanie’s glossy and expensive home. Your grandma and grandpa are sitting at it alone, looking content to be holding their own conversation.

But Van isn’t convinced, standing up from his seat. Realizing he’s serious, you start to grab your things too, brainstorming where you two could sit now.

“Nah, have it,” Van tells Ben again, stepping away from the table. Ben hesitates but ends up taking the seat, scooting his chair in towards the table as soon as you rise out of your own chair.

“We can go sit with Maggie,” You leave the dining room with it’s glowing chandelier, navigate the polished hardwood and shiny marble of the kitchen, until you’re back in the sitting room you’d just escaped.

Your cousin is sitting on the floor with her girlfriend, their backs against the couch. You and Van take the floor against the loveseat across from them, the electric stone fireplace alive with flickering digital flames.

The rug that the couch and loveseat rest on is incredibly plush and has clearly just been cleaned; it’s pristine white with no stains despite the fact you know your aunt’s dog tends to have accidents on it. You set your glass of red wine down cautiously, but the glass doesn’t seem as stable as you’d like it to be.

“Hey!” Maggie perks up when she notices it’s you and Van that have set up camp with them.

“Hi,” You smile, instantly resting a hand on Van’s shoulder. “This is my boyfriend, Van,” You introduce him, and he offers a kind wave as he’s working his way through one of his bread rolls.

“Hi,” Maggie laughs as Van wipes crumbs off of his shirt. “I’m Y/N’s favorite cousin, Maggie,” She giggles at her joke, although it’s true. “And this is my girlfriend Sophie.”

Van looks pleasantly surprised at the mention of Sophie being Maggie’s girlfriend. “There’s two of ya!” He laughs, his eyes widening at you.

Maggie looks slightly confused, but you laugh, catching his drift. “Gay cousins? Yeah,” You nod.

With your clarification Maggie and Sophie laugh as well. You watch Van’s cheeks turn pink, most likely worried he’d just offended someone. But nobody’s bothered, and the conversation centers around how Maggie and Sophie met at the local university Maggie attends, the one you were planning to attend before you ended up ditching your hometown.

Nobody else comes to eat in the sitting room, and for the first time the entire night conversation flows easily, and you don’t have to count down every excruciating minute. You four keep talking well after your plates are empty, until Van and Sophie have to make a trip to grab drinks for everyone.

“He’s so fucking hilarious,” Maggie remarks as soon as they’ve left the room. “If I was into men I’d totally steal him from you.”

That’s the best seal of approval anyone could hope to get from Maggie, who is perpetually trying to convince anyone within a ten foot radius that being a lesbian is the superior sexuality. You don’t disagree, but falling for Van hadn’t been up to you. You beam at her compliment, and you’re still smiling when they return.

“For you,” Van stands over you, handing you down a freshly refilled glass of wine. He’s got a bottle of beer tucked under his elbow, and Sophie passes another beer to Maggie before cracking open the can of sparkling cider she’d grabbed for herself.

Van inquires about Sophie’s cider, which she graciously crawls forward to offer Van a sip of. Then Maggie and Van try to turn the conversation into how beer is the best alcoholic drink, which you and Sophie debate vehemently. The room is filled with playful debate until everyone is exhausted trying to argue their points.

“Hey,” Maggie starts quietly, before taking a long drag of her beer. “I’ve got a huge blunt in the car if you guys wanna come smoke with us.”

Your jaw drops. “Margaret Fields,” You grin, although you and Van are already standing up to follow her. “This is a family event!”

“All the more reason we need it,” Maggie raises an eyebrow at you. Everyone tries their hardest not to make a commotion at the coat closet as you all throw your jackets and boots on before slipping quietly out of the front door and tiptoeing down the driveway to Maggie’s car.

“Roll down the window a little,” You insist, burrowing into your coat further. Maggie turns the car on just long enough to crack the back window for you and Van.

“Now it’s gonna be freezing in here,” Van complains, poking at you.

“I know, but I don’t want to reek of weed when we go back in!” You whisper loudly, as Van takes the lit blunt from Sophie. “They’ll kill us!”

The only light in the vehicle is coming from the glowing windows of your aunt’s house and the embers of the blunt as Van inhales. You watch him exhale a shadowy cloud of weed, momentarily leaning closer to you so that he can aim it towards the cracked window.

“You’re gonna make me smell like it!” You protest, watching the smoke trail past your face and out of the car. Van snorts as he passes the blunt over to you, his fingers ice cold.

“You’re no fun,” He tuts, but you can’t reply as you’re too busy holding the weed in your lungs for as long as you can. It burns your throat on its way out, and you try your hardest to suppress your coughs.

Time gets a little fuzzy around the edges as the weed is passed around another time (or two, or three, who knows), and you don’t know how long you’ve been missing from the party when you all stumble back inside.

“Van!” Your uncle calls just as Van’s hung is coat up. “You said you played guitar?”

“I do, yeah,” Van nods, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Can you help me with something? Do you know how to restring one?”

“I do,” Van repeats, and your uncle gestures at the large staircase right by the front door.

“I’ve got it up here.”

Van shoots you a glance before he politely follows your uncle up the stairs, disappearing into the second floor.

You pray he makes a quick return as you make a quick stop through the kitchen, filling a new paper plate with some second helpings of whatever looked good.

“Have you seen Will?” Your Aunt Stephanie asks as she comes to get another brownie. They’re the star of the night, courtesy of one of your cousins, and there’s less and less of them each time you pass through the kitchen. You decide to take one while they’re still around, your mouth watering at the chocolate frosting on top.

“Van’s helping him restring his guitar,” You tell her, and she groans.

“I wish he wouldn’t,” She sighs. “He’s been putting off taking it to be restrung for months. We’ve finally had some peace and quiet around here.”

You laugh at that. “I haven’t seen James,” You realize, scanning the floor of the room.

“He’s around,” Stephanie shrugs, “Probably pissing somewhere.”

You giggle a little too loudly at that, and then manage to slip away back to the sitting room where Maggie and Sophie have already taken refuge again.

“Where’s Van?” Maggie asks, now slouched in the couch. Sophie is next to her, still sipping at her cider.

“Uncle Will needs him to restring his guitar,” You inform them. “It only takes him a minute, so hopefully he’ll be back soon.”

“That sucks,” Sophie sighs, before noticing the food you were carrying. “You brought snacks?”

“For me!” You insist, plopping down on the loveseat. “These are strictly for me.”

“No fair!” Sophie gets up from the couch, crossing the space to sit down in the empty space you’d left for Van next to you. “Mags and I supplied the weed, didn’t we?” Without waiting for a response she plucks one of the deviled eggs off of your plate before prancing back to her seat.

You zone out into your high, absentmindedly munching on your food, when you suddenly see movement out of the corner of your eye.

“James!” You exclaim excitedly, and the white miniature poodle that’s laying on the dog bed in the corner of the room perks up at his name.

“Hi, baby!” You baby talk him, hoping to lure him out of his bed. His eyes are open and his ears are twitching slightly, watching the strangers in his living room. But he’s still content to lay in his bed, his chin resting on one of the plush sides of it.

“C’mere!” You coo, patting the couch. Realizing you’re not going to let him rest, James starts to heave himself up.

As soon as he starts to cross the room towards you you decide to slip from the loveseat back onto the floor, ripping a piece of your bread roll as an offering to him. You don’t feel your hip bump your wine glass still resting on the floor until it’s too late, until you don’t feel the glass against you anymore because it has tipped, your red wine sloshing out of it and right onto the fresh white rug.

You gasp, watching the liquid seep into the fabric, looking like a blood stain as it spreads. You’re so frozen in your shock that you don’t even notice James has finally trotted over to you until he steals your entire bread roll from right off of your plate, ignoring the small portion clutched between your forefinger and your thumb. You jerk your head to see him make his way back to his bed, curling up to chow down on his prize.

“Oh my God,” You murmur, looking at Maggie and Sophie with wide eyes. “What do we do?”

You’re greeted with two silent stares, the two of them fixated on the stain.

It shouldn’t be funny, but suddenly it is. The dog has run away with your bread roll. Your red wine is currently soiling Aunt Stephanie’s extremely expensive carpet. And everyone in the room is frozen in a state of shock. There’s nobody around with enough sense to play hostess and grab a napkin or something that could absorb the spill. Without being able to control it laughter bubbles up from your stomach, ringing out through the room as it escapes your mouth. You just stare at the disaster that has unfolded in front of your eyes, laughing about it all.

“Help me!” You manage through your laughter, realizing that someone had to take charge. “I need something to soak this up!”

Maggie and Sophie jump up then, everyone searching desperately for something to mop up the wine. Sophie slips out of the room, only to return with one of the fresh white towels you recognize from the bathroom.

“It’s gonna ruin the towel!” You exclaim quietly, but Sophie still gets down on the floor with you and lays it on top of the wine, applying pressure with the palms of her hands.

“Better a towel than this rug!” She stage whispers, and you’re relieved to see the red soaking through the towel. At least some of it will be lifted from the carpet.

“I can’t fucking believe this,” You whisper, glancing up nervously to make sure nobody is about to enter the room. “I knew it wasn’t a good idea to get high at a family fucking party!”

“Oh, shut up, Y/N,” Maggie rolls her eyes. “Loosen up. We’ve got this covered!”

“It’s a huge red stain!” You hiss, Sophie folding the towel over itself and applying pressure again.

“We’ve almost got three degrees between us,” Maggie gestures to the three of them. “We can get a stain out!”

The absurdity of her sentence sends you into another giggle fit.

“What?” Sophie lifts her head to see what you’re laughing about, but she’s smiling, your laughter spreading to her.

It takes you a moment to catch your breath before you can tell your joke. “How many college graduates does it take to clean up a spill?”

You’re aware somewhere in the back of your mind it’s not even that funny, but the weed says otherwise. Maggie and Sophie find it as funny as you, and when Van comes back into the room you’re all in tears, blubbering about stupid mistakes you’ve all made through the years, how poor of an indicator higher education is when it comes to common sense.

“What the hell is going on?” He asks as he approaches you guys, a smile spreading across his face. You watch it dissolve in one instant when he catches sight of the wine stain that you’re all guarding from view with your bodies.

“We’re in a crisis,” You admit, wiping the tears from your eyes, exhaling another watery giggle.

“This is about as good as it’s gonna get,” Sophie says, pulling the towel up. The stain on the carpet is pink now instead of the vivid red it originally was, but it’s not disguised in the slightest.

“C’mon,” Van reaches a hand out to help you stand up onto wobbly legs. He leads you out into the hall, and you’re slipping in your socks on the hardwood floor.

“What are you doing?” You ask a little too loudly, and Van quickly makes a shushing motion. He turns the corner into the bathroom, tugging you in behind him and locking the door securely.

“We need peroxide,” He tells you, kneeling down to start searching through the cabinet under the sink. “Do you know where she keeps it?”

“No, I don’t know where Aunt Stephanie keeps her peroxide,” You scoff, but start helping him in his search. “I come over exactly once a year.”

You open up the medicine cabinet, your eyes tracing over the various bottles they keep in there. It’s clear this is the guest bathroom; it’s only stocked with generic headache cures, packaged toothbrushes, and some tampons.

“I don’t think they keep any down here,” You tell Van, who has finally given up his search, standing up. “This is just a spare bathroom. I’m sure they have some upstairs.”

Van nods, unlocking the bathroom door before heading out. You’ve resigned to heading back into the living room empty handed, and you’re surprised to see Van turn the opposite direction, towards the staircase he had followed your Uncle Will up.

“We can’t go up there!” You insist. “That’s weird!”

“I left my phone up there,” Van tells you, his blue eyes widening in silent emphasis.

“Right,” You swallow down your apprehension, following him around the corner and up the stairs.

On the second floor the noise of the party has faded away, leaving only the soft noise of you and Van’s footsteps as you navigate towards the master bedroom. You haven’t been up here since you were a little kid, sneaking around with Maggie and your other cousins in your nice Christmas dresses. You still intuitively know the layout, but Van gets to the master bedroom first. He must’ve restrung the guitar in there.

He gives a polite knock before finally twisting the knob and peeking in. He opens the door wider as he steps in, you lagging behind.

Your aunt and uncle have completely redone their bedroom in the fifteen-plus years it’s been since you’ve been in here. Gone is the soft blue carpet that everyone used to pretend was the ocean, leaping from the waterbed to the sofa that had been pressed against the wall near the bed in order to avoid drowning in it. It’s a crisp cream color now, just like everything else in the room. There’s no more art on the walls depicting french bistros during the different seasons, art you’d point at with your cousins and declare which small oil-painted figure everyone was. The space on the wall is now occupied by a family portrait, a framed photo of James peering up at the camera with his tear-stained eyes and trendy decorative mirror.

“Er… Which one is the bathroom?”

Lost in your reminiscing, you hadn’t noticed Van had opened up the first door to his right, which leads to a closet. He offers you a sheepish smile when you laugh.

“Over here,” You point, crossing the room to the open doorway of the bathroom. You step in, flicking the lights on. The bathroom looks the same as it always has; it must be their next renovation project.

Van starts to check under the sink, but you close the door behind you two so that the bathroom closet that was hidden from view is visible now. As soon as you open the creaky wooden door you spot the brown bottle of peroxide, presenting it to Van in triumph.

“Now we’re talking,” Van looks over the label of the bottle carefully before you two return the bathroom to how you’d originally found it, slipping out of the bedroom and back down the stairs, the chatter of the party becoming louder with each step down the staircase.

“Why peroxide?” You ask Van as you two walk at a brisk pace towards the living room where you two had abandoned Maggie and Sophie with your mess. You hope nobody’s walked in and placed the blame on them.

“It helps lift stains,” Van explains. “It’s a color safe bleach.”

“There you are!”

Maggie and Sophie are dutifully still guarding the scene with their bodies.

“Where were you?” Maggie asks.

“We had to go upstairs to get peroxide,” You explain, kneeling down with Van, who has opened the bottle up. “You know those oil paintings Aunt Stephanie used to have upstairs of the cafe?”

“The whole set, yeah,” Maggie nods.

“They’re gone now,” You inform her solemnly. It shouldn’t be a big deal, but it feels strange to know that part of your childhood holiday celebrations no longer exists.

“No!” Maggie cries, placing a hand over her heart for extra drama. “Is nothing from our childhood sacred?”

“Right?” You laugh, comforted that she seemed to be feeling the same emotions you were.

Van has poured peroxide over the stain, the carpet fizzing with the liquid.

“Did you Google this?” You ask him, watching as he tends to the spill carefully.

Van shakes his head. “Been doing this my whole life at the B ‘n B.”

He grabs for the towel Sophie had sopped up some of the wine with, and carefully uses a clean section of it to dab at the peroxide. It’s a terse ten minutes while he continues to perform this ritual, everyone watching him with bated breath.

“There,” He breathes finally, pulling the towel away in satisfaction. The stain wasn’t entirely gone, but it was close to it. There’s a collective relief in the room.

“Now help me,” He nods towards you before getting up and approaching the loveseat. “Maggie and Sophie, you two push the stain under.” You line yourself up across from Van on the other side of the loveseat, helping to lift it when Van leans down. It’s heavy, and you struggle to barely lift the wooden feet off of the floor. There’s some commotion as Maggie and Sophie attempt to do their assigned job, and then the loveseat is lowering back onto the rug.

The stain is successfully hidden underneath the furniture. You grin at Van, a warm feeling of satisfaction spreading over you. Van grins back.

“Crisis averted,” Sophie declares, getting up to grab her cider off of the end table. “Here’s to Van!”

“To Van!” Maggie echoes, clinking her beer with Sophie’s can. Van laughs at their cheer, carefully bundling up the soiled towel and the now-empty bottle of peroxide.

“Help me get rid of this,” He requests of you, gesturing out into the hall.

You two manage to slip the evidence into the trash drawer without drawing any suspicion, and then Van nods to the sliding doors leading to the snow-covered back deck. “I need a smoke.”

“Me too,” You sigh wistfully, following Van to the front door so that he can slip his shoes on.

“Come have one with me,” Van insists, leaning over to pass your shoes to you.

“I can’t,” You tell him quietly, but still put your shoes on. Even if you can’t smoke, you’d like to get some air.

Your grandpa stops you on your way out onto the deck with a quick question about how to do something on his new iPhone, and you show him how to change the settings before you catch up to Van, who’s leaned against the side of the house, staring out into the darkness of the yard.

“I’m jealous,” You pout, the smoke he exhales illuminated by the warm glow coming from the sliding doors.

“Have a smoke!” Van laughs, holding his cigarette out in offering.

“I can’t,” You frown. “I don’t want them to see me!”

Your family still had no idea about the bad habit you’ve picked up, and you intended to keep it that way.

“Here,” Van pushes off from the house, nodding at you to take his place. “I’ll keep watch for us.”

He’s slipped his blazer on to come outside, and he reaches in the pocket for his box of cigarettes, quickly slipping one into the palm of your hand along with his lighter. His fingers are ice cold. You light up quickly before passing them back.

The introvert in you relishes in this quiet moment away from socializing, relaxing into the rhythm of your breathing as you smoke with Van in silence.

Van’s holding his cigarette in his left hand, his right hand safely tucked away in his pocket to warm up. He paces around the snowy deck, leaving footprints everywhere he goes. Every few steps he checks the doors to see if anyone’s coming.

The cold air feels good against your skin. You’ve opted to come out without your coat, enjoying the feeling of the slight wind slipping through the stitches in your dress and cooling your skin. You watch a small gust of wind flip a lock of Van’s hair the wrong way, ruining his part. You smile, endlessly endeared by him.

Van catches you smiling. “What?” He asks, returning it just as warmly.

You’re just opening your mouth to tell him to come closer so you can fix his hair when Van glances at the door, his smile dropping.

“Ben’s coming,” He alerts you, and you have no choice but to drop your cigarette onto the deck, wincing as you stomp out half of a perfectly good cigarette, using the toe of your shoe to delicately bury it in snow.

“Hey,” Ben greets Van when the door slides open, the noise of the party leaking out of the house. “Where’s Y/N?”

“Right here,” You speak up before Van can, emerging from the shadows. “I was just getting some air with Van.”

“Are you guys ready to head out when you’re done?” Ben asks. “I’ve been getting badgered by Aunt Sal for the last hour, I don’t know how much longer you two expect me to stay sober.”

“I’m ready to go,” You look to Van, and he nods in agreement.

“Lemme finish this,” Van tells your brother before inhaling another hit. “And we can get out of here.”

“Oh!” You exclaim suddenly. “Did Rachel and the baby ever get here?”

“Yeah, like a half hour ago,” Ben tells you. “Where have you been?”

Van snorts, but keeps your secret. “I’ve been catching up with Maggie,” You brush him off. “But I wanna see Lily before we go.”

“Hurry it up,” Ben demands, but he heads back in, sliding the door shut behind him.

“So bossy,” You roll your eyes, turning back to Van. You step in close, reaching up to fix the misplaced lock of hair.

“I love you,” You tell him quietly, tilting your head up for a kiss. Van meets you halfway, his mouth tasting of beer and nicotine and weed.

“I don’t smell, do I?” You ask, worried. “I don’t want to ask to hold Lily smelling like I just smoked.”

“You did just smoke,” Van points out. But he leans in and sniffs the top of your head, and then the spot where your shoulder and neck meet. “Smell fine to me, though.”

Van throws his cigarette down, snuffing it out before you two head back in.

You two find your cousin Rachel sitting in the living room reserved for special occasions, surrounded by family discussing motherhood with her. Her husband is sitting next to her, looking overwhelmed with all of the conversation. You try to remember his name. Jamie? Jacob? Joe?

“Hey,” You greet everyone as you enter, and your family turns their attention on you. “I wanted to hold Lily before we leave.”

“Come and get her,” Rachel grins, gingerly lifting the three month old baby in her lap. Lily is bundled in a festive blanket that features small cartoon reindeer leaping about, and she’s chewing on her fingers as she’s passed into your arms.

“She’s so cute,” You gush, watching her small eyes look over your face with curiosity. She has a red bow wound in her thin dark hair, and when she releases her tiny fingers from her mouth some slobber gets in her ponytail.

“Everyone says she looks just like Jack,” Rachel says, and the relatives in the room murmur in agreement. Ah, that’s his name. Jack.

“She does,” You agree, even if you don’t see it. “Van, wanna hold her?”

Van falters for a second, clearly unsure if that’s alright with Rachel. But when she doesn’t protest he nods, pushing up the sleeves of his blazer before he takes Lily into his arms.

“He’s a natural with babies,” You tell Rachel. “Everytime I hold them they cry, and then I hand them over to Van and they just stop. Every time.”

Rachel laughs, and you watch Van gaze down lovingly at Lily, your heart glowing. After he’s rocked her for a moment he laughs softly, starting to hand her back. “She’s about to cry.”

You see what he means when Rachel has her back in her arms; Lily’s face is starting to turn an angry shade of red, her nose scrunching in discomfort.

“I’ll go warm up a bottle,” Jack immediately springs into action.

“Alright, well, we’re gonna head out,” You announce awkwardly while there’s a gap in conversation. “Bye, everyone!”

Of course your family won’t let it be that easy, and you’re soon engulfed in hugs from whoever’s in the room. You watch Van out of the corner of your eye, shaking hands with your uncles and hugging your aunts.

After your goodbyes you find Ben chatting with your mom and dad in the kitchen.

“The happiest I’ve ever seen her,” You hear your mom say before you’ve entered the room. “Did you see her wipe his mouth? She’s a woman possessed,” She laughs.

Everyone is still chuckling when you turn the corner. “Ben,” You singsong. “We’re ready!”

“We’ll be following shortly,” Your dad waves you three off. “See you at home!”

The drive home takes twice the time that arriving did. It had continued to snow throughout the entire duration of the party, leaving the highways slushy and slippery, drivers inching along cautiously.

The wine, weed, and your flight that morning means that you can’t stay awake during the drive, your body heavy with exhaustion. You lean your forehead against the cold glass of the window and close your eyes, drifting off peacefully.

You’re woken by Van’s hand on your shoulder, shaking you gently.

“We’re home,” He murmurs, tucking your hair behind your ear. “Let’s get inside and head to bed.”

You practically trip over your own feet up the driveway and into the house, still half asleep. Ben yawns his goodnight as he sheds his damp jacket and shoes by the front door before heading into the spare bedroom. It’s less of a bedroom and more of your parent’s closet since you’ve both moved out, but they’ve kept your childhood bed in there for your occasional visits. Van guides you down the hall to the office, where you two would be sleeping.

The office is cold when you step inside, due to the french doors that lead to the backyard letting a draft in. Your mom’s been working from home since pandemic caused everyone into lockdown during the spring and summer, and her work area is piled with papers and binders. Various little lights on her computer flash, and the paperwork chaos spreads across the top of her bookshelf that houses all of her professional reference material, and the drawers to her filing cabinet are open and overflowing. The couch that you and Van are supposed to share has plenty of folded blankets resting on it, meant to help you two sleep despite the chill that’s lingered in here every cold season your entire life.

The cold is almost worth it with the view through the french doors. You hover on the other side of them, admiring the fresh blanket of untouched snow covering your yard, and the front row view of tonight’s blizzard. You yawn, your breath fogging up the glass in front of your face.

“What do you say we just, fuck the couch,” Van insists, gesturing to the blankets atop it, “And we just make a big bed on the floor?”

That’d probably be a lot warmer. And a lot more comfortable, considering you’ve grown used to sleeping beside Van, and to fit on the couch you two would have to rest your head on opposite sides.

“Yeah,” You agree sleepily, rubbing your eyes.

“Go get ready for bed,” Van tells you. “I’ll get this ready.”

As sleepy as you are, once you’ve washed your makeup off your energy levels perk up. It feels good when your skin can breathe again, even if your dark circles are back on display.

As soon as you’re back in the office you strip off your clothing, rummaging through your suitcase topless for your Las Vegas shirt.

Once you’ve slipped your shirt over your head you notice Van’s handiwork; he’s used the couch cushions to elevate your pillows, and created a carefully layered mattress of blankets. You crawl towards it, happily sliding underneath the top two layers.

“Hey!” Van protests from where he’s tucking his button up and blazer back into their garment bag. “That was supposed to be my side!”

“Shut up,” You scoff, but roll over in a show of generosity. While you wait for Van to climb underneath the blankets with you, you mentally replay tonight in your mind.

This is the most fun you’ve had at a family gathering in years. Since the days of leaping off of your aunt and uncle’s waterbed, really. Instead of stilted small talk and constant glances at your phone your night was filled with laughter, scheming with your cousin, and the pride of watching Van woo everyone in your family. You don’t think he could’ve been more of a gentleman if he’d tried. And you know he had tried, and hard. But you’ve met plenty of people like yourself, who are still anxious and clumsy and don’t get things right even when you put your best effort forward. You think of what you’d overheard your mom saying: A woman possessed.

Was it that obvious? Was the joy and love that Van brought into your life so clearly on display for everyone? Could he tell? Could he see how appreciative you were for the adventure that always followed him, and therefore you, wherever he went?

You hope he’s here for next year’s party. And the next. And the next. There’s nobody else who could embolden you to the point where you felt comfortable enough to sneak out to smoke weed in front of all your uppity family; Nobody who could keep your weed-clogged brain clear enough to fix the mess you’ve made without you spiraling into a crazy bout of paranoia. Nobody else you could trust to keep watch while you smoke a cigarette. Nobody else who made you feel so at peace with your childhood falling away, because what’s left in its wake was even better.

“I love you,” You murmur as soon as you feel his body slide next to yours. You blink at his tired face. “You were so good with everyone.”

The lines at the outer corners of Van’s eyes crinkle as he smiles. “I fucking hope so. I was busting my ass trying to get it right.”

“And you did perfect,” You assure him, cupping his cheek. “I love you so much.”

“Aw, Christ,” Van tuts. “I love you, too. Now go to bed, you’re going soft on me.”

“No, wait,” You urge him, but you can tell your voice is slurring. You’re right on the precipice of falling into a deep sleep. “Thank you for saving my ass.”

“You’re welcome,” Van laughs.

“And merry Christmas,” You continue, patting his hair. “I was gonna blow you tonight as a reward, but it’ll have to wait.”

“It’s the thought that counts,” Van jokes. “Now go to sleep.”

You ignore his instructions. “Did you hear my mom in the kitchen? Saying I was a woman possessed?”

“Did she? No, I didn’t hear.” You can hear the amusement in Van’s voice, but your eyes have slipped closed. “That’s funny. I tend to feel like the puppy following you around.”

“I had so much fun tonight.” You feel yourself smile as the room around you starts to feel warm and hazy, Van’s body radiating a comforting warmth.

“I did too,” Van whispers, leaning forward to plant a quick kiss on your slack lips. “Merry Christmas. I love you. Night.”

#happy holidays!!#summer's a knife #catfish and the bottlemen #catb #catb fic #van mccann #van mccann fanfiction #van mccann fic #vanfic #catfish and the bottlemen fanfiction

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wherevermyway · 4 years ago

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step out! do what you want (chapter one)

pairing: reader/bang chan rating: explicit | 18+ warnings: smut with plot, smoking, explicit drug use, alcohol, partying, unprotected hookups word count: about 6,100 also posted to my AO3 here! chapter/series navigation

chapter one: my house

after being abandoned by your best friend at a lame party, you run into Christopher Bang, a well-known music producer who was also conveniently abandoned at the same party. you're invited back to his place for some fun, but you end up biting off more than you can chew when you find out who he really is.

hello new readers! this is just a precursor to let you know that this is not going to be an all-smut-all-the-time super happy fun fic. there will be dark elements, especially from chapter six to the conclusion. smut has been marked as noted (chapters one through five) so if you’re just here for that, there you go!

disclaimer: any reference to persons in this work of fiction are purely coincidental. the characters referenced from Stray Kids are interpretations loosely based on their personalities in the group and do not represent the real people behind the personas. if this, or any of the content included in the warnings above make you uncomfortable, please stop reading now.

side note: for the love of minho’s cats, don’t mix party drugs or drugs with alcohol.

I also recommend listening to "true intentions" by takayan, "bet bet" and "I'm in trouble" by nu'est, and "nxt 2 u" by none other than 3racha while listening to this. playlist can be found here!

“Fuck,” you grumbled under your breath as you sat down on the grungy couch behind you. Your feet were killing you because you thought that your brand new high heels were a great complement to your outfit, no matter what the physical cost to you was. Loud EDM music pulsed from the large speakers on the other side of the room, the bass trembling the couch from underneath you.

Leaning back, appreciating the fact that you were finally off of your feet, you sighed a breath of relief. You silently swore to yourself that you were going to kill Minji the next time you saw her. How could she leave you alone for some dude? Hyunjin: was that his name?

Whatever. It didn’t matter. This party sucked; you didn’t know anyone, it smelled like feet, and whomever was controlling the music was horrible. Who plays EDM sandwiched between lo-fi beats?

You were ripped from your thoughts as the couch shifted as some guy with very bright and well-maintained (albeit obviously bleached) blond hair unceremoniously flopped down next to you. He let his face fall into his hands as he let out an exasperated groan. It seemed like tonight wasn’t going well for him, either.

“What’s your deal?” You shouted in his direction, not actually caring if Mr. Blond responded or was interested in chatting with you.

He lifted his head up from his palms, tilting back to look at you. You saw the whites of his eyes quickly glance up and down your torso and head. An uneasy expression briefly passed over his face - you couldn’t quite decipher exactly what it was. You looked him up and down - in the dim lighting, you could tell he was wearing a nice white button-up shirt, casually buttoned only to his sternum, and some skin-tight, shiny black pants that you assumed were made out of mock leather. He looked good.

Mr. Blond sighed and sat back. He opened his mouth, but didn’t make an effort to look at you. “My friend left me. Ran into some chick he used to fuck off and on and I have no idea where he went.” His hand reached into his back pocket, fumbling around until he pulled out a black pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He brought the pack to his mouth, wrapping his lips around one that popped out of the pack and pulled it out, turning the rest of the pack to you.

“Want one?” He turned his head towards you and looked at you with a relaxed, tired look in his eyes. “You look pretty miserable too. Hot, but miserable.” Mr. Blond’s blatant comment elicited an unwanted snort from you as you grabbed a cigarette from the pack.

“What the hell,” you said with an uncommitted tone as you lifted the cigarette to your lips, “this party sucks and I could use something to take the edge off.” The man sat back on his hand, lifting his lighter to your mouth, lighting the cigarette as you breathed in.

The soft flavour of menthol danced around your tongue as the vapour travelled to your lungs. ‘An interesting choice’, you thought, ‘Blondie doesn’t seem like the type.’

As if he could read your thoughts, Mr. Blond chimed in, “I only smoke when I come to these parties.” You watched him as he relaxed back into the couch, entranced as he took a drag from his cigarette, the smoke billowing up from his lips deliberately travelling up his nose. The sight made your stomach tingle with excitement for a fleeting moment. “I fucking hate menthol, though,” he laughed, looking at the cigarette in his hand before looking to you and smiling, “Name’s Christopher. Chan, when I’m here in Seoul, but I prefer Christopher.”

You smile, taking a drag from your cigarette before introducing yourself. “Nice to meet you, Blondie.” It seemed like your night was finally starting to get a little exciting.

Time had passed, although you weren’t exactly sure how long it was. Conversations with Christopher came naturally - you easily chatted about your interests; how he was in the music production industry and was pretty well known, but preferred staying underground whenever possible; he even seemed genuinely interested when you told him about your modelling career, travelling between South Korea and your home country of Japan, occasionally travelling across Europe and the US for some really high-end shoots.

Minji had texted you an hour ago saying she was sorry for abandoning you and apologizing more, admitting in a text ten minutes later with four pleading face emojis and two sets of eye emojis prefacing that she had left with Hyunjin and was turning off her phone for the night. It didn’t bother you in the slightest, and the look on Christopher’s face as he realized that his friend Hyunjin left with your friend made you belly laugh uncomfortably hard for a good minute.

“What a small world,” you gasp out between laughs, wiping the tears from the corners of your eyes. “That bitch left me for your friend! I guess it was fate that we met tonight.”

Christopher smiled and ran his fingers through his hair. You had a feeling you knew what he was going to ask as he turned to you with a smirk on his face, him biting the corner of his bottom lip. You didn’t want to spoil the fun prematurely by interrupting, deciding you’d hear him out. You always enjoyed watching potential one-night stands squirm when they wanted to ask you to their place.

“Yeah, seems like we were meant to meet each other tonight,” he says as he casually reaches his arm across the back of the couch behind you. The stale smell of cigarette smoke doubled in strength as he leaned in closer to you. “What do you say we leave this horrible party and head back to my place? No pressure, it just seems like it’d be more fun to get to know you somewhere that didn’t smell like a locker room.”

Both of you chuckled at Christopher’s lame, but accurate, joke, and you smiled up at him. “Anything beats this place,” you reach down to touch his thigh, and you bring your face next to his ear, whispering, “let’s get out of here,” as casually as you could manage.

‘Oh shit,’ you thought to yourself as the taxi pulled up to Christopher’s apartment building. This was the good part of Seoul: Blondie lived in Cheongdam-dong, which was where the elite and the wealthiest entertainers lived. Surely this was a mistake?

As incredible as it was to actually be going inside one of these apartment buildings, you felt nervous that you were going to break something or offend someone by looking at them for just too long.

Christopher gently pulled you along by your hand, stopping in front of the elevator bays. He looked over at you, noticing that your eyes were darting around and you seemed nervous. “What’s up?” He softly squeezed your hand, looking down at you.

A nervous laugh surprised you as it escaped your lips. “I’ve never been somewhere like this. Gangnam-gu, sure; Cheongdam-dong, yeah - but an apartment here?” You looked up to Christopher, wide-eyed and bewildered, “Who are you really?”

Ding. The arrival of the elevator interjected in your conversation, as Christopher looked down and chuckled. “C’mon,” he said with a non-committal tone to his voice, “I’ll tell you upstairs.”

The ride up to the 32nd floor was tense, and you could feel your hand starting to sweat as every inch of the skin that touched Christopher’s hand was suddenly hypersensitive. ‘Who is this man,’ you wondered to yourself as you stared at him through the corner of your eye.

“32nd floor. Please watch your step.” The soft, feminine voice of the elevator’s AI announced as you reached your destination. Christopher wordlessly pulled you along, through the doors, down the left corridor. You both paused in front of his door as he pulled his cellphone out from his other back pocket, waving it over the keyless entry at his door. 3217 was emboldened in sleek, silver lettering next to his front door. You made a mental note, ‘I should send Minji a text so she knows where to find my body if I go missing.’ It wasn’t a serious thought, but it was something that did cross your mind.

Christopher looked down to his phone, frowning as he scanned his eyes across the screen. He whispered something in English under his breath as he let go of your hand, his voice tense and uncomfortable. With his free hand, he opened the door, holding it open for you. He pointedly looked down both sides of the corridor, making sure to press the door closed as he engaged the thick physical lock above the handle.

“I’ve gotta take care of something really quickly,” he said in a serious tone, turning to you and offering you an uneasy smile. “Feel free to help yourself to anything in here, I’ll be back in a minute.” With that, he spun on his heel and darted off to a room beyond the kitchen, his eyes glued to his phone the entire walk.

The view from the windows is what you first noticed. You could see the buildings of Seoul reach across the horizon, mesmerized by the twinkling lights across the city. It was a beautiful view, one you figure was worth the money that this surely cost. As you pulled your back to reality, you slipped your shoes off at the entrance and made your way to a barstool towards the kitchen counter. You pulled your phone out of your pocket and shot off a quick text to Minji.

Hey, I’m out with this guy I met at that party. His name is Christopher Bang. Another music producer type haha, oops. Apparently, he knows Hyunjin? Anyway, he lives in Cheongdam of all places! I’ll check in with you tomorrow at some point to make sure I’m still alive lol. Btw, you suck for leaving me at that party alone. I’ll get you back, bitch.

You add in a couple of broken heart and crying emojis at the end of the text so Minji knows you’re not actually mad at her. You also send her a pin of your location - just in case; it was something you both did as a habit. As you lock your phone and put it back in your pocket, you hear some terse yelling come from the room that Christopher is in. You’re not able to make it out from this far away, but it sounds like he’s firmly scolding someone over the phone in a mixture of what you suspect is English and Mandarin.

‘Relax,’ you mentally reassure yourself, ‘you just met the guy, he lives in the expensive part of town, he’s probably just having problems with some music deal or something. It’s fine.’

After a minute or two, you decide to grab a glass from the cupboard and fill it with water, if anything, to pass the time. As you’re turning the faucet off, Christopher comes out of the room, his hair dishevelled and another button from his shirt undone. He walks to the entryway and unceremoniously slips his shoes off. A heavy sigh escapes his lips, then he turns around and walks towards you.

“I’m really sorry about that,” he says with a pleading look on his face, “I’ve just been dealing with some issues with work and it pops up at the worst possible times. Hopefully I didn’t worry you too much?” The upward inflection at the end of his sentence and the smirk on his face as he slowly walks up to you somewhat reassures you. The lighting of the room highlights Christopher’s features in the loveliest way possible - you didn’t notice before, but he has a dimple on the right side of his face when he smiles. He was an honestly attractive man.

“It’s fine, it was just…” you smile, shake your head, and look down to your glass of water as your sentence trails off. Strange? Different? You weren’t exactly sure how to end that sentence.

Christopher picks up on your tension, and lifts his hands to your face. They are soft, and there’s a light woodsy scent that travels with them, like a faint cologne that’s slowly worn off through the night. “I’d like to make it up to you,” he softly lifts up your head, and your eyes slowly trail up to meet his. It startles you how close you are to his face, so close that you can see just how thick his eyelashes are and how deep his brown eyes are.

It happens almost mechanically. Before you really register it, your lips are up against his. It’s pensive and timid at first, but the awkwardness fades as you part your lips against his, letting your tongue travel out to touch his lips, his teeth, then his tongue. It goes from soft and romantic to passionate and intense in a split second. Christopher takes your face into his hands with purpose now, trailing his fingers back into your hair, digging his fingernails into your scalp and pulling you into him.

An anguished moan slips from his lips and it causes your stomach to do backflips. As you take the time to acquaint yourselves with each other’s mouths, Christopher’s hands drop from your head down to your waist. He breaks away from the kiss, looking at you with half-lidded eyes, before he bends down and lifts you up from your hips. You wrap your legs around his waist and giggle excitedly as he carries you from the kitchen into the room he was in earlier.

In a moment, you’re observing the ceiling of this room, as Christopher softly sets you down on the bed. You want to take in the environment, to know more about this mysterious man, but he ruins that opportunity for you as he crawls on top of you, peppering kisses from your lips, to your cheek, down your neck, and across your collarbones. He lifts his head to look at you, smiling somewhat deviously.

“Hey,” he breathes out, “you wanna try something? You can totally say no, but, I think it’ll be fun.” His voice layered in a dark, seductive tone that makes you all the more curious about him, that familiar question popping up in the back of your head: who was this man?

‘Oh no’, you think, worried that he’s going to propose some stupid or weird sexual act that’s going to completely ruin the moment. Christopher must have noticed the look on your face, because he chuckles and sits back on his heels. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing that out of the ordinary. It’s just something that I like to do now and then. Like I said, you can absolutely say no and I won’t judge you or pressure you.” He slips his hand in his front pocket and pulls out a small velvet bag.

You sit up on your elbows, curious as to what the man could possibly have in such a tiny bag. As Christopher opens the bag, he pulls out a small plastic bag with white powder, and another small bag with some baby blue tablets. He outstretches his palm towards you, letting you inspect the bags.

“I might also have an affinity for party drugs,” he says with a nervous chuckle, “comes with the music industry.”

You look down at Christopher’s palm, then back up to meet his eyes. You’re not really upset, just a bit taken aback. However, you would definitely be lying to yourself if you said you weren’t at least somewhat curious. Part of you had a feeling this was a bad idea, but the less-logical part of you just wanted to let loose and enjoy yourself for once. When would you really, honestly get a chance to have sex with such a good looking man in an apartment you would never be able to afford in ten lifetimes?

As you bit your lip back and looked up at Christopher with a smirk, you knew and acknowledged that there were red flags in the back of your head, but you pushed them aside, sitting fully up, grabbing the tops of Christopher’s thighs.

“Let’s do it,” you excitedly whisper, against your best instincts, before you lean in to kiss Christopher again. His lips curl in a boyish, excited grin as he gives you a quick kiss back, reaching down to grab your hands from his thighs.

“Come with me.”

Christopher lays down generic ground rules before anything fun happens. He explicitly tells you that if anything makes you uncomfortable, you need to tell him. You reassure him that, yes, you’ve tried cocaine a couple of times because it’s rampant in the modelling industry, but that the ecstasy was something foreign to you. This whole situation was foreign to you, but you continued to stuff that down and ignore it. You needed to live a little while you were still young, right?

You hear Christopher assertively say your name as he waves his hand in front of your face. “Are you listening to me? I won’t do this unless you really want to and you listen to me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you shake your head, coming back to reality. “Sorry, I was just spacing out for a second. Honestly, Christopher, I’m fine. I’ll drink water and I’ll tell you if anything makes me uncomfortable.” Christopher’s lips tugged into a slight frown as he lifts his eyebrow. “I promise,” you reassure, grabbing his hand from his side.

“Good,” he relaxes, turning back to the kitchen counter. He grabs the blue tablets, handing one out to you. “Take this first. It’s gonna take a half-hour to really feel it, and that’s when you’re really going to want to play around. Make sure you drink the entire glass of water, too. Trust me.”

Excitedly, you grab the tablet from Christopher’s hand and slip it on your tongue, swallowing it down a bit nervously with a few sips of water. Your eyes dart up, taking in how intently Christopher is watching your every movement. When you set your glass down, he follows suit by dropping the tablet into his mouth and taking a single large drink of water from his glass.

“Okay,” he exclaims, a nervous smile on his face, “still wanna do a couple lines?”

You nod your head a bit too excitedly as you tuck your bottom lip under your teeth. Christopher smirks in response as he empties the bag onto the countertop, methodically dividing it into four lines - two for each of you. He spends time spreading it out with a card he pulled out from his wallet, holding a ₩50,000 note in his other hand.

“Alright,” he says as he stands up straight, turning to look at you. He rolls up the note into a tight cylinder and passes it off to you with a soft smile, “ladies first, yeah?” You take the note from him and look down to the countertop. With a quick breath in, you bend down - making sure to wiggle your bum a bit for good measure - and take the note to your nose, lining up the end of it to the first line. You quickly sniff up the first line, take a couple of breaths, then take in the second line.

With a perk in your step, you snap yourself back upright and look at Christopher with wide eyes and a delighted grin. His mouth is slightly agape and his eyes are wide, taking you in. “Oh my god,” he whispers in English, switching back to Korean in the same breath, “you are so much fun to watch.” You giggle and pass the note back to him.

Christopher bends down and looks up at you as he gets close to the countertop. “This one’s for you,” he says with a wink, before he inhales both lines in succession. He stands back up, quickly rubbing underneath his nostril before leaning on the countertop with his hands. He takes a quick breath, then turns back to you with an obvious fire in his eyes.

“Let’s get started, baby,” he demands, a low tone in his voice you haven’t heard yet. Christopher grabs your hand, pulling you back into what you assume is his bedroom. He leads you to the edge of the bed, guiding you down as he presses his lips to yours with a renewed hunger for you. His kiss isn’t as soft and tender as it was before: this is more calculated and determined, as if he needed to kiss you in order to save his life. He wastes no time inviting his tongue into your mouth without warning, exploring your mouth with purpose.

You can’t really help it, but you moan at the assertiveness in Christopher’s behaviour, which causes him to subconsciously grind his pelvis down into yours. There’s an obvious, apparent firmness that comes between you and a breath hitches in your throat. “Chris,” you groan out, “I want you, please.”

Christopher breaks away from the kiss, lifting his head up to look at you. “No,” he says with a wide grin on his face, “we’re going to play for a while first, baby.” He sits up onto his knees and unbuttons his shirt completely, aggressively pulling the bottom of his shirt from the waistband of his pants before haphazardly discarding it on to the floor.

You really don’t mean to stare - especially not with your jaw hanging wide open - but you find yourself transfixed on the man’s very obvious and well-sculpted torso. His abdomen is rigid, and his arms have very well defined muscles that are very distracting. Christopher laughs, stretching his hands out towards you.

“Can I?” He questions, reaching down to the hem of your shirt. You throw all caution to the wind, excitedly nodding, inching closer towards him on your knees. As he smiles at you, he grabs your shirt, pulling it over your head and tossing it to the ground with a bit more tact. A gasp escapes him as he draws his attention up from your abdomen, slowly up your torso, and eventually looking back up at you with a completely dumbfounded look plastered on his face.

You take this opportunity to slip your hands behind your back, grabbing each side of your bra and pushing the clips together to unhook each side, slipping the straps down each arm. The soft fabric falls from your skin as you peel it off of you and drop it off the edge of the bed.

“Wow,” Christopher breathes out, taking his hands from your hips and slowly lifting them up under your breasts. He gently cups the underside of them, and pulls you into his lap. His soft lips come crashing into yours as he sinks his hands down to the waistband of your jeans, fumbling with the button a bit before he’s able to finally undo it and slide your zipper down. Making sure not to break from the kiss, you hook your thumbs in the waistband of your pants and wiggle them off to about your knees.

Christopher guides you onto your back, giving you a quick kiss one more time before he sits up. “Let me help you out with this,” he says with a smirk as he pulls your jeans off, but leaving you in your underwear. Your jeans easily slip off of your ankles and you can’t help but blush at how exposed you are. Almost as if he can feel your nervousness and insecurities pop up, He smiles and leans down to kiss you for a moment.

“You’re beautiful,” he says with a smile, kissing you again before he steps down to the floor. Your eyes follow him, looking at the way his tongue does a quick pass over his lips before he bites the bottom one and moves to unbutton his pants. The skin-tight material provides a bit of difficulty as he struggles to get the legs to slip down past his thighs, but they come off easily after they pass his knees.

“Man, it’s way easier getting those on than off,” Christopher laughs as he steps out of his pants. He stands upright, and that’s when you realize he’s completely naked.

“Oh my god,” you say with a bit of shock to your voice. It’s a bit embarrassing, you can’t help but stare because his cock is right there and obvious and very hard. It’s larger than you expected, and you subconsciously suck your bottom lip under your teeth as you stare up at him.

He awkwardly laughs as he walks around the bed, sitting at the empty space next to you. “I don’t know if you’re feeling it yet or not, but I really want you to come over here and ride my face right now.”

The sheer bluntness of Christopher’s statement causes a tingling in your stomach and makes your head start to feel fuzzy and tingly. Maybe the ecstasy was starting to kick in after all, because you felt soft and really affectionate. “You want me to do what?” You question, nervously smiling. This was something none of your previous boyfriends or one-night stands had ever done, never mind enthusiastically wanting to try it.

Christopher turns back, grabbing the pillow from your side of the bed, putting it on top of the pillow behind him. He then leans back, resting his head on the pillows, and he tugs your wrist gently, pulling you over him, straddling his waist. “Come on, I promise you’ll enjoy it. If you don’t, then I’ll stop and do whatever you want, okay?”

You have to admit, he has a way with words and you were curious if he could actually make you come or if he just had an oversized ego. “Alright,” you say with a nervous smile, your eyes darting down to Christopher’s chest. His eyes light up and he grabs your hips with a bit too much excitement.

“Really?” The way that he earnestly smiles is really cute. “You wouldn’t believe it, but most women I’ve been with don’t want to try it. It’s something I love doing.” He lets out a giggle and hooks his index fingers into the waistband of your panties. “Can I?”

A wave of excitement takes over - yeah, the drugs are fully kicking in now - and you nod your head a couple of times. “Fuck yes,” Christopher says under his breath as he pulls your panties down in one quick motion, guiding your both of legs out of them. He grabs your hips again and looks up at you with half-open eyes, “Come to me, baby.”

It feels like your inhibitions have completely left you as you shift your pelvis up to Christopher’s face. He reaches his tongue out and takes a quick taste of you, looking up at you very eagerly. A smile comes across his face and he pulls you down onto him fully. Once you’ve rested on his chin, he wastes no time lapping you up.

His tongue is warm and the way it feels on your sensitive skin is enough to make your head spin. A wave of happiness flows up from your toes all the way to your head, giving you a body-wide tingle. As you start to feel warm all around, Christopher takes his tongue and presses it up against your clit, slowly licking you up from the middle of his tongue all the way to the tip. You choke out a moan and slam your hands on the wall ahead of you.

“Oh, fuck,” you groan out, looking down to Christopher, who has a very happy grin plastered on his face.

“Does it feel good, baby?” He moans out in between aggressive licks, taking one of his hands from your hips and slipping it in between your legs. “If you like that,” he says as he slides one of his fingers inside of you, “you’re going to love this.”

Your eyes shoot wide open and you curl your fingers on the wall. A squeak escapes from your lips as Christopher takes another finger and inserts it into you, fingers slowly riding in and out, curling towards your pelvic bone when they’re fully inside of you. Suddenly, the room is unbearably hot and your nerves are on fire. The drugs were having a tremendous effect on you, and everything felt more intense than you had ever experienced.

Christopher took his free hand, grabbing your thigh to steady you. “It’s alright, baby, I’ve got you. You’re not going anywhere, so relax.” His voice is soothing and the calming tone of his voice somehow turns you on more. Your hands slip down the wall a bit and your head falls onto your forearm.

“If you stop one more, ah, time, I swear,” breathy moans accent your words, “I swear I will, ah, kill you, Christopher Bang. Fuck.”

A laugh comes from him, “I’d like to see you try.” As you try to come up with a witty quip, he starts pumping his fingers in and out of you fervently, sucking your clit into his mouth as he gives frequent small licks to you.

The intensity is almost too much to handle. Whines keep leaving you subconsciously and you turn to bite your arm to stifle your moans. Your teeth dig into your skin, and you’re sure it’s going to leave a bruise tomorrow. Christopher is relentless, his fingers and tongue working in tandem, and it’s causing your brain to melt. The heat building up in the pit of your stomach is unbearable; your legs start to shake, and you feel close to climaxing.

“Fuck, I’m gonna,” you squeak out in a panicked voice, “Chris, I’m gonna come!”

Christopher moves his hand from your hip to the small of your back, somehow working you even harder. With one last press of his fingers against your g-spot, your head snaps up, straightening your back. You scream out his name at the top of your lungs as your orgasm takes control of you. There’s something about this orgasm that’s otherworldly, it feels almost as if you can feel every nerve in your body vibrate within you and it feels incredible. In your blurry state, you make a mental note to try this more often, the drugs and the face-riding.

Reality slowly comes back to you as you roll off of Christopher and to the side of the bed. “Holy shit,” you breathe out, “that was incredible.” You turn your head to look at him and his pupils are fully blown out, a proud grin on his face.

“You look like you had a good time, yeah?” He questions, rolling over onto his side and resting his head on his palm. “What’d I tell you?”

“Yeah, you were right,” a giddy smile is plastered on your face that you can’t seem to relax, “I did enjoy myself. I think you might have ruined me from anyone else for a while.” You both share a good laugh and the room falls quiet. The nerves in your body have calmed down a bit, but your heart is still racing.

Christopher rolls over, reaching for a bottle of water on the nightstand. He takes a quick drink and passes it to you. “Here, you definitely need this. And you’re not allowed to say no, remember? Hydration’s important.” Too exhausted to argue, you nod your head and take a couple of sips from the bottle. You hand the bottle back and he puts it back on the nightstand. As you’re about to thank him, he takes you by surprise by crawling over you and crashes his lips against yours.

“We’re not done yet,” he says with an ominous tone, breaking away from the kiss, “Not even close. Are you ready for me, baby?” Your eyes widen and you look down between your legs. Christopher is there and you’re concerned if he’ll actually fit. After staring for a second too long, you look up at him with pleading eyes and nod your head. “Alright.”

He sits back on his heels and licks his hand. Once he’s got enough saliva on his hand, he grabs his cock and starts slowly stroking himself, biting his lip as he looks directly at you. “What? Like what you see?” Christopher smiles, then brings himself back down to your level. “I’m gonna go inside you now, are you ready?” You look up at him nervously and quickly nod your head in agreement a couple of times. “No, I want you to tell me you want it.”

Your face is suddenly hot with embarrassment; somehow, this was more embarrassing than sitting on someone else’s face. Christopher puts a reassuring hand on your cheek, then gives a peck to your forehead. “C’mon, baby, tell me.”

“I want you,” you nervously gulp, but find the confidence you need, “I want you to fuck me like it’s your last day on earth.”

Your words make it seem like a spark is ignited in Christopher: his eyes darken and he suddenly gets a serious look on his face. In an instant, he’s pushing himself inside you, the painful but wonderful sensation of being filled up makes you roll your eyes and head backwards. You reach up your hands haphazardly into his hair, gripping tightly once you have fistfuls in each hand.

“Fuck,” he groans once he’s completely inside you. “Baby, you feel like heaven. I’m gonna move, okay?” You nod your head a bit more excitedly than you were intending to, but it makes him smile. He pulls himself out all the way, then quickly slams his hips against yours. The sudden movement causes you to arch your back and moan louder than you expected you could.

Christopher leans down, his arms on either side of your head. He brings his face to yours and sloppily kisses you as he rocks his hips back and forth, grinding the tip of his cock against your cervix. You open your mouth, letting your tongues explore each other. As he keeps moving, he takes his left hand and brings it up to your hair, gripping it. The tugging of your hair causes a lightning strike of nerves to light up for a split second.

“Chris,” you moan into his mouth, breath hitching in your throat as his pace quickens, “fuck me harder!”

Your request makes him break from your kiss. He reaches his arms down to your legs and places them both over his right shoulder. “Alright, baby, just tell me if it’s too much,” he smiles deviously and starts thrusting into you again. The new positioning takes you by surprise, making every small movement that much more intense.

Profanity punctuates each thrust as you moan and cry almost incoherently. It feels like you’re starting to lose your grip on reality. It’s probably the combination of this position and the drugs, but your body feels like it’s on an entirely different plane of existence. Every single cell in your body feels like it’s going to explode and you can’t stop yourself from crying out Christopher’s name over and over.

“That’s it, baby,” his voice brings you back a bit, providing you a sense of anchorage in your bliss, “you belong to me tonight.” He fucks you faster and a bit more sloppily, his cadence no longer keeping up a steady rhythm. “Fuck, if I keep going like this,” he cuts himself off, moaning out your name, “baby, I’m gonna come, can I come inside you?”

Words just won’t come to you, so you settle for vigorously nodding your head. Christopher puts one of his arms down on the bed next to you and puts most of his weight on to it. “Fuck,” he groans and tucks his head into his chest, “fuck!” He thrusts into you one more time and bottoms out, twitching as his cum fills you up in rhythmic spurts.

You both stay like this for a moment, before he releases your legs down to his sides. He leans in and lazily kisses you before rolling over, panting and clearly out of breath.

“That was,” he sighs, turning his head in your direction with half-open eyes, “that was incredible. Yeah? How are you feeling?”

Normally, you wouldn’t curl up into a one-night stand, but tonight has you feeling a certain type of way. You crawl into Christopher’s chest and smile, “I feel amazing. That was the most fun I’ve had in so long.”

Christopher laughs, wrapping his arms around you and resting his chin against the top of your head. “I’m glad. Let’s do this again in the morning.” You both let out soft giggles and relax into each other. As sleep starts to overtake you, you swear you hear your cell phone buzzing. “Whatever,” you think, “it can’t be that important.”

As you’d find out the next morning, you were wrong. It was incredibly important.

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