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EPISODE 7 LIGHT NOVEL Chapter 6-2 English Translation

The carriage swayed as it rattled along the road. Given the muddy conditions, the three riding within would be hard-pressed to call it a comfortable trip. A cheerful excursion, this was most certainly not.

“The director who asked you to come only recently rose to the position. He’s a former student of mine,” Clemens said.

“Student?” Owl repeated.

“Indeed. I took up a teaching position at that facility once upon a time, though only for a short while. It serves as a teaching hospital of sorts, training medical students while also providing care for patients.”

At this point, Clemens could say anything about his past and Owl wouldn’t even be fazed. Sure, he was a teacher somewhere for a while, why not? The information came in infrequent dribs and drabs, though, that Owl would allow himself some snark. “... So you taught them, what, polite bedside manner?”

“Rude.” Clemens’ gaze flicked away, though. “But, well, perhaps that was the case, after a fashion. There was a time where I was deeply interested in the human spirit, and how fluctuations of the mind and soul affected the physical corpus. I wrote a paper on the subject, purporting it as a psychosomatic affliction. For the most part, people thought the whole idea was ludicrous, but the former director of the institute took an interest and asked me to give some lectures on the topic.”

Owl hummed. “... Psychoanalysis, huh. It’s still an unorthodox practice, but I’ll admit, it’s sound and it gets results. I bet you use it on all those women you pick up as well.”

“I am begging you to stop saying it like that. All of those women are hurt by something or another, and I provide a balm for their souls, no more, no less, understand?”

“Sure, but what you say and how you say it are two very different things.”

“Hmm? You know, you’re rather combative today. What’s got you in such a foul mood?”

“Are you seriously...?” Owl’s face grew taut, mouth pressed into a thin, irritated line. He spat, “Maybe because there’s no one I can act all friendly with, since no one is telling me the essential information I need to know, did you ever think of that?!” He twisted away to glare out the window.

The wheels THUNKED outside, sending the whole car rocking. The route really was just awful; this old country road out in the sticks clearly needed some upkeep. They’d spent about twelve hours on the train before arriving in the countryside with wheat fields as far as the eye could see. They would occasionally pass a farmer or two brandishing a hoe or a rake, but otherwise the path was pretty well devoid of people. Far off in the distance, beyond a patch of woods nestled at the base of a sheer cliff, stood the small hill that was their destination. More specifically, their destination was the massive building surrounded by high walls that stood atop the hill. Owl’s eyes locked on the building, still tiny on the horizon. So that’s the place, huh....

A soft body leaned into Owl’s shoulder and a voice sighed, “It kind of looks like a medieval castle, huh? No place to go shopping, though. Suuuch a shame.”

“Get off, Elnora, you’re heavy.”

“Rude! I’m as light as a fairy!”

The third person in the carriage was not his partner Nick, but rather Elnora. Owl shoved her off. “... Why are you even here? Don’t you have a job?”

Elnora pouted. “Oh, please, I’m here for you!”

“For me?”

Elnora leaned back against Owl with a wink, the perfect image of innocence. “Yes! Because you said, ‘I have a bad feeling about bringing Black Rose Disease patients with me on this case,’ so you left Nick and Ellie to hold down the fort, and I thought, well, you’ll absolutely need someone else to be your assistant – an assistant more capable than Nick, as cute as Ellie, and willing and able to heal both body and soul. No matter how you slice it, I’m the only girl up for the job, don’t you think?”

Owl blinked. “Heal...?” He knew nuns could offer forgiveness, but healing? That sounded completely antithetical to Elnora’s entire being.

Elnora tilted her head to glare at Clemens and continued, “Besides, I can’t let that man out of my sight! Ignore me, will he? Hmph!” Then, as if to prove Owl’s point, she slammed the tips of her high heels directly into the priest’s shin.

“OW!” Clemens crumpled forward, clutching his leg. He raised his head to meet her eyes. “I wasn’t ignoring you, really,” he offered weakly.

“I don’t want to hear your excuses,” she sniffed. “I’m just going to keep a close eye on you until you come back to the Gefinesse Church.”

“I never said I was never coming back, did I? I would never leave your side.”

“Oh, I know, but all this wandering around you’re doing is starting to bother me. I want you to hurry up and come back so those perverted old men will stop leering at the nuns and the other women who come to pray!” Elnora stomped the floor, seething. “They’re so happy you’re gone, you know. They’re plotting to usurp you!”

This had most likely been building for a while, and now she’d reached her limit. Clemens’ absence had apparently caused some major ripples.

“Some of the believers are even saying you threw me away! Do I look like the sort of woman who’d let herself be thrown away by a guy like you?! Who do they think I am?! It’s downright degrading!” That, however, seemed to be the biggest straw. Elnora had worked herself up into an incandescent rage now, drumming her feet against the floor, but she reined herself in after a moment. “Plus... there’s something about this that bothers me,” she admitted, glancing out the window toward the building in the distance.

“What it is?” asked Owl.

“Oh, you want to know? Are you interested in me, Owl?” Elnora leaned against his shoulder again, but instead of actually answering, she deflected. “Well, if you get me the newest Stamison bag, I don’t mind telling you whatever you want to know.”

“Didn’t you just buy a new bag, though?” Clemens interjected.

“I didn’t buy it, a guy who came for confession bought it for me.”

“You didn’t make him buy it for you?”

“Oh, please. I don’t want anything. It just might’ve come up in conversation, is all.”

“I’m pretty sure all you talk about is what you want.”

“Well, then, what should I talk about? I don’t want to hear about some guy repenting because he had dessert, that’s boring. If two people are having a chat, it’s always more interesting if it’s the woman talking.”

To the average layperson, Clemens and Elnora were bickering the same as always. Owl, who’d been dealing with them for quite a bit longer than the average layperson, could tell that they bickered like this on purpose, so other people couldn’t get a word in edgewise. Anyone who tried to push their own agenda would find themselves left in the dust and the conversation steered in another direction before they could blink. It was clear that these two shared many secrets.

Now, everyone had secrets, obviously. Plenty of people in Owl’s orbit, in particular, had complex circumstances they weren’t willing to talk about. But Clemens and Elnora seemed to have a particularly complicated past with each other. So when Owl interrupted them, all he said was, “If you don’t want to say anything, fine, just don’t lie to Ellie.”

That shut them up quick. “... I wouldn’t,” Elnora mumbled awkwardly. “Not to Ellie.”

“Because you don’t want her to hate you,” agreed Owl, then turned away.

Elnora gazed out the window. “Looks like rain,” she murmured.

The carriage trundled on toward the building on the hill in silence after that.

Dark clouds brewed on the horizon.

Something golden flashed amid the storm clouds. A moment later, the air rumbled with the distant roar of thunder.

■■■■■■■■■

The medical facility run by the Gefinesse Faith looked like an old castle or the like from their carriage, but as they got closer it looked more like a proper institution, albeit one surrounded on all sides by heavily fortified walls.

Only one road led in and out of the facility, forcing the carriage to take a winding road up the hill. Partway up, though, they spotted a steep stone staircase and decided to hop out there and climb the rest of the way on foot. Up until that point they’d hardly seen anyone on the road leading in, but as they headed up the stairs more and more people appeared, and all of them were heading up to the building as well. Young, old, man, woman, it seemed people from all walks of life were present – the only thing seemingly tying them together was how unwell they all looked.

“That’s a lot of people,” Owl commented.

“That article in the newspaper helped spread the word. Now more and more people are flocking to the institute, apparently,” explained Clemens.

“... I would assume climbing the stairs would be an ordeal for a sick person, but....” Owl’s eyes flicked to the side. The slope off to the side of the steps was fairly gentle, but it was currently occupied by processing workers dragging luggage carriers back down the hill.

Elnora eyed them as well. “I wonder if they’d let us ride those,” she muttered.

“Those people are carrying property that belonged to deceased patients,” explained Clemens. “I wouldn’t recommend riding their carts.”

Elnora shut her mouth.

After about ten minutes of climbing, a massive, almost castle-like stone gate loomed in front of them, complete with a portcullis. The yawning mouth appeared to be swallowing people whole. Elnora tilted her head up. Her eyes caught on something etched into the stone above. “That crest....”

“What crest?” Owl also looked up and spotted it. For a second, it almost reminded him of the symbol he’d seen in the church on Teos Island, but on closer inspection the design was different.

“Is that a wild rose?” wondered Elnora. “Most hospitals have that rod thing as their symbol, but I guess this place is different.”

“Looks like it.”

“And those people over there have the same rose pattern on their clothes. Do you think they’re with the facility?” Elnora pointed below the gate, where people gathered around what looked like an intake hut for people entering the grounds – an inspection point, most likely. All the men there were indeed wearing matching rose-inscribed uniforms and were conducting thorough inspections of every single visitor.

“Ahh, those are security guards,” answered Clemens. “All members of staff here wear the same uniform. It’s important for medical personnel to look clean, after all.”

“So that’s why we look like this.” Elnora gently tugged at her sleeve.

All three of them had foregone their usual attire and instead wore outfits identical to the staff here. Clemens had made them both change in the carriage.

“Don’t want us to stand out as outsiders, huh?”

“Exactly.”

Owl shook out his fluttery sleeves a bit with a nod. Elnora, however, crossed her arms with the most blatant pout she could muster. “Ugh, this isn’t style at all,” she grumbled, tugging at the buttons around her neck. “It’s not even the right size, I can’t stand how hard it’s squeezing my chest.”

“I didn’t exactly have a choice, given that the plan didn’t include you coming with us in the first place,” Clemens chided, gently plucking her hand away from her neck. “I had to alter a dress that looked close enough to the women’s uniform in a hurry, so please just bear with it.” He strode off, completely ignoring the line of people waiting to get inside. “This way,” he called.

The people at the head of the procession signed what looked to be like a medical chart with so many sections to fill out that completing one would clearly take a while. That said, though, there really wasn’t a reason for the hospital to deny anyone admission, so every visitor passed through the gate without issue.

Clemens headed for the intake hut near the gate and pulled what looked to be like some sort of entry permit out of his pocket. The guard there offered Clemens a polite bow and urged him along. Owl and Elnora followed after him, but right when they reached the gate itself another uniformed man popped up and asked, “Mr. Clemens, sir, who might these children be? I don’t believe I recognize them.”

“Ahh, I’m just looking after these two for a time,” Clemens replied smoothly. “One is an orphan, and the other has been passed around from relative to relative due to disease. The director kindly offered them a place here when I brought it up with him.” He turned to the others and surreptitiously winked. “Rossignol, Anatra, introduce yourselves. These are the people who will be looking after you.”

The two caught on quickly and twisted their faces to look as pitiful as possible. “... Thank you... for taking us in,” mumbled Owl.

“What a dependable-looking doctor!” gushed Elnora.

Their eyes glittered with spirit, their hands clasped in front of them as if in prayer in the most obvious unnatural performance ever, yet the guard just blinked at them and then scratched his head with an embarrassed smile. “Ah, no, I’m just a guard, not a doctor, haha. Do I really look that impressive...? Well, let’s see, you have a permit from the director himself, so I don’t see an issue. Please, go right on in.”

The smiling guard pointed to the gate. The smiling trio nodded and headed right through –

“Ahh, but would you allow me to perform a health screening, just to be safe? Are either of you ill at present?”

– until the guard remembered what his actual job was and called out to them again. Owl clicked his tongue, thankfully too quiet to be heard.

“Yes, I suppose a wellness check would be necessary.” Clemens immediately grabbed Owl by the arm and herded him over to the hut. “Rossignol, go ahead and show him.”

“Show him what?”

“The marks on your neck.”

“Hah?” What was Clemens talking about? Owl twisted to ask, but before he could Clemens’ fingers lunged forward and deftly undid the button on his neck. “Hey --!”

Elnora gently pressed up against his back before he could say anything more. “Come on, you know you have to show him,” she purred.

Clemens popped the collar and spread it wide, baring Owl’s nape to the world. The guard peered closely at his collarbones for a bit, then nodded. “There does indeed appear to be a mark there, though it’ll require further tests to determine if it’s from the Black Rose Disease.”

Clemens nodded as well. “Hm, yes, please do. But I will say, the boy’s a bit delicate, so I would prefer if the director handled the tests, given that he’s a good friend of mine. I’ve already given him the boy’s chart, besides. Could you call him up for me? If you mention I brought the kids I’m sure he’ll kow it’s us.”

“Understood. I’ll let the director know right away. I’ll go ahead and register your names, so please feel free to wait in the plaza. It was, er... Rossignol and... Anatra, yes?”

“That’s correct, yes. Thank you, really, you’re a lifesaver.” Clemens beamed as he ushered the others along while the guard headed off to the reception area.

As Owl followed after the priest, he pressed a finger to his clavicle and demanded, “What is this?” His finger came back black, dyed by some sort of ink.

“I wouldn’t rub at that too hard if I were you, it’ll stain your collar and makeup doesn’t come out of clothes too well nowadays,” Clemens cautioned.

“Did you draw this? When?!”

“When you were dozing off in the train. I used Elnora’s makeup kit.”

“Why do you keep doing these things to me while I’m asleep?!” Owl’s voice started to rise... but then he paused, glanced around, and dropped his voice even lower, mindful of all the ears and eyes around. As he wrestled his collar button back into place, he hissed, “If you needed to do something like this you should’ve told me beforehand!”

“Ah, well, I expected you would find it rather indecent and get angry at me. Apologies.”

“And why ‘Rossignol’? The disguises weren’t enough, we needed fake names, too? Is there some reason you don’t want them knowing I’m a detective?”

“More or less. We’d rather this case be kept as private as possible.”

If looks could kill, Owl would be standing over Clemens’ dead body. “This is the first I’m hearing of this!” he whisper-screeched.

Luckily, looks couldn’t kill, so Clemens just kept walking into the grounds, supremely unconcerned. “A detective really ought to have one or two fake identities anyway.”

Elnora, however, had her own grievances to voice. “Okay, but why ‘Anatra’ for me? You know that means ‘duck,’ do I look like a lousy honking bird like that to you? Where’d you leave your naming sense?”

“Alas, it was just the first thing that came to mind.”

“So you’ve been thinking I’m a duck for a while now, is that what you’re saying? You just had that ready and raring to go?” Elnora slapped Clemens’ back as hard as she could, though the priest didn’t even flinch.

“Yeah, and I’m Rossignol,” grumbled Owl.

“Okay, but that one’s actually good, though, Rossignol means ‘nightingale,’” Elnora shot back. “It’s a cute little songbird, that’s adorable.”

“I’ve never sang a song before in my life.”

“That makes sense, since you’re a bad singer, too.”

Owl’s expression pinched tighter and tighter as the conversation went on, as if someone kept sticking a lemon in his mouth. “What do you mean, ‘too’? Get off my back. Not like it’s a problem if I do or don’t.”

“That’s not true,” Clemens said. “You’re the master key.”

“The master key?”

“Yes.” Clemens glanced back over his shoulder.

It took Owl a few seconds to get it. “... Antoine Rossignol, huh,” he muttered.

“Indeed. He was a cryptographer of rare and exceeding talent, a master key that could pry open any lock, much like how you can solve any mystery that comes your way.”

Owl had no response for that.

“I’ll be looking forward to your performance.” Clemens turned back around and kept walking.

The trio eventually came upon another sturdy gate of interwoven bars. By the looks of things, this place had to have been an important fort during wartime. The priest flashed his entry permit to the guards on either side as he approached and passed without issue.

The second gate opened out onto a plaza bracketed by stone buildings, almost like a little makeshift city. Plenty of people were walking around all over the place inside, but the only healthy-looking ones were the ones in uniform – the doctors – while the rest were patients. About half of the uniformed people seemed to be students, by the looks of them.

Elnora took in the sights. “It looks like a German castle in here.”

Owl glanced at her, brows furrowed. “Why German?”

Elnora gestured around. “The plaza, the tall towers, the fountain... and those steep rooftops, they look a lot like a German castle I saw way back when. I was wondering why I was getting so much déjà vu, you remember it too, right, Clemens?”

Clemens nodded. “Ahh, that place, hm. Now that brings me back. But it’s only been a few decades since the third-generation head finished building that one. This place has far more history behind it. The fountain is massive, and....” He pointed up to the tower. “You see how refined that bergfried is? The top floor there serves as a viewing platform.”

“Ooh, impressive. And that statue on top there... is that Apollo, maybe? It sticks out like a sore thumb compared to everything else.”

“Indeed. There are other statues of Apollo all over the place in here.”

While the two chattered on, lost in their own little world, Owl peered up at the bergfried. The statue decorating the top of the tower was a tall one, depicting Apollo with his bow drawn. Something flashed. He squinted. A part of the statue was glittering in the light. He stared up at it for several seconds, then glanced around and murmured, “Well, that’s not good.”

Elnora shot him a confused look. “What’s not good?”

Owl hummed and turned away. “Nothing....”

Clemens, apparently, didn’t hear their little exchange. “That fountain looks just like the ones in Germany as well,” he commented, pointing to the center of the plaza. “Of course, it’d be more obvious if this one weren’t dry, but still.”

Elnora nodded along as Clemens expounded on how the construction matched that of a well-known architect and how it might be their student or some such. I didn’t know those two have been to Germany before, Owl thought. He didn’t dare say that to them, though, lest that cause them to clam up. Each word out of their mouths oozed years of history and personal information. So Owl kept his mouth shut and listened closely even as he scanned the area again. All of the buildings around were tall, topped by Sitoggian pointed archways. It wasn’t an architectural style one saw often in the countryside – the local terrain likely had a hand in keeping them from crumbling away. He had to imagine there used to be a prosperous city here, ages and ages ago....

His eyes caught on one building ahead. That wasn’t Sitoggian. “What’s that?” he murmured to himself.

Sharp-eared Clemens heard him. “That would be a research lab,” he explained.

“That’s weird, though.” Owl pointed at the offending structure. “That’s Naebokkian architecture.”

“It is.”

Owl gestured more empathically at the oblong building, specifically its low roof and drawn-on arches on its gable walls. “Why is that the only Naebokkian building?”

“Because those were added to the existing building after it was originally built,” replied Clemens easily.

“Those are add-ons? Then why wouldn’t they make them look like the other buildings, then? It’s weird how it doesn’t match at all, it’s glaringly different.”

“You’re not wrong, but this isn’t the only odd building out. There’s another one further into the grounds that’s Exenanorian.”

“Why, though? They’re all so mismatched.”

“Again, you’re not wrong.” Clemens considered for a moment, then continued, “The institute may look like one big facility, but in truth, it’s actually split into three factions.”

Owl blinked. “Factions?”

“Indeed. It used to just be the one Lapertes faction, but it fractured, and now the three sides are all trying to strengthen their positions and remodel their buildings into different styles,” Clemens explained. “They may appear like a united front on the surface, but they’re anything but. The whole facility has become a maze – this place used to be a fairly simple fort, but now it’s got three small cities mixed together inside like a marble pattern.”

“... I see. So the architectural styles changed because of the fighting between the factions. That sounds like a pain to deal with.” Under his breath, Owl added, “I’ll get lost in here the second I go off-course....”

Clemens snickered. “You’re always getting lost, though,” he pointed out. “Your horrific sense of direction is your special power that keeps you out of trouble.”

“Shut up.” Owl kicked the priest in the shin, right where Elnora nailed him earlier.

“Ow!” Clemens shook his poor abused leg around. “Goodness me, I’m going to run out of leg at this rate.” He turned and started walking toward the center of the plaza. “I suppose I have no choice – let’s see if I can offer you something to fix that poor mood of yours....”

“Such as?” Owl trailed after him.

“Oh, don’t worry, you’ll love it.” Clemens led them to the dried-up fountain and pointed to a black stone monument erected past it “You can read the Greek alphabet, right, Owl?”

“The Greek alphabet? I did study it, technically, but I wouldn’t say I’m any good at it. I can manage simple vocabulary, at least.”

“I see. Then I’ll do the translating.”

Elnora stepped up to the monument and peered at the drawing etched into the stone. “Is this meant to be the sun?” she wondered aloud. The polished surface did indeed have a large circle with lines radiating off of it like the sun’s rays. The Greek characters in question were carved on top of it.

Owl stared at the monument for a moment, then asked Clemens, “Is this... supposed to be the thing you said I’d love?” Because to him, it sure looked like a regular old art piece.

“Well, you do, don’t you? I thought you loved codes like this.”

“Codes – this is a code?”

“Oh, yes. This slab of rock has been here for a very long time, but no one has been able to figure out what the message on it is supposed to mean. The knowledge was lost as the generations passed and the institute changed hands. It makes no sense even when translated.”

“... And you want me to solve it? This is probably just a poem or something, isn’t it?”

“I wouldn’t know. But we have some time to kill before the director gets here, so we might as well, no?” Clemens’s finger traced the letters as he intoned:

“So spoke Ptolemy:

The truth may only be found in Apollo’s golden crown where the stars align

Magicians, reveal your strength through the star charts and trace your path.”

“... Ptolemy.” Owl rubbed his chin. “That was the Greek astronomer who proposed a theory on the movements of celestial bodies, if I remember right.”

“You do. He’s quite the famous wise man.”

“So the stuff that’s written inside the sun here has to do with star charts?”

“Possibly. Let me see, these words here mean....”

“No, wait a minute.”

“Hm?”

Owl’s eyes roved around the plaza. His gaze flicked to the dried-up fountain, then to the oddly numerous stone benches surrounding it, around twenty or thirty in total. “... That’s it.”

“Owl?”

“Give me a second.”

He jogged off toward the closest bench, paused for a second to inspect it, found nothing, then jogged off again. The benches were small – most of them could only seat one or two people at a time, though they came in a wide range of colors. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to how they were scattered around the fountain, instead sitting in a chaotic jumble of stone.

“Hey, Owl? What’re you doing?” called Elnora.

Owl didn’t answer until he’d checked every single bench and jogged back to the other two. “Just as I thought,” he declared.

“Hm?” Clemens cocked his head.

“I found some strange letters carved into some of the stones.”

A smile flashed across Clemens’ face. “Impressive. I didn’t think you’d find those before I could mention them.”

“We were talking about astronomy, and there was a drawing of a sun with that weird message, right near an obviously suspicious fountain,” Owl pointed out nonchalantly. Of course I’d go look.”

“So you think the fountain is suspicious.”

“No, most of the benches and the fountain aren’t.”

“They aren’t?”

Owl whipped his notebook out, scribbled something down, and flipped it around to show Clemens.

“What is this?” The priest peered at the notebook.

“Aerial view of the fountain and the layout of the benches. Most of them are dummies.”

“Dummies – ah, fakes? Truly? What makes you say that?”

“We’re up on a hill and there are no canals or waterways around. It would cost a lot of money to keep a fountain running in a place like that, not to mention a sizable pump and a windmill to keep it all moving. Even in Paris, it supposedly costs more to keep the fountains going in the palace gardens than the palaces themselves. So the fountain here, then, is obviously a decoration, not a working fountain, and therefore has some other purpose. The real meaning here is in the benches – though only six of them had important letters carved into them. Four others had other intriguing carvings on them, but they weren’t written in Greek so we can ignore those.”

“Six, hm....” Clemens scanned the notebook more closely. Six of the benches on the little map had marks next to them. “What do these mean?”

“They’re the locations of the benches with the inscribed letters, two each on the seats. Clockwise from the monument, they go Δί, Αφ, Άρ, φε, Ερ, and Κρ.”

“Those are certainly Greek letters, but what are they?”

“We know this all has to do with astronomy, so it’s simple – they’re the first two letters of the planets Jupiter, Venus, Mars, the moon, Mercury, and Saturn, in that order. The benches represent celestial bodies.” Owl marked down the symbols of the various planets in turn, then turned and did the same to the stone monument itself. “All the pieces are in place. So, Clemens, read what’s written inside the sun from top to bottom.”

“Understood.” Clemens’ finger once again traced the text. “Let’s see... there are seven lines of text. Starting from the top....”

Owl copied everything down as Clemens said it. The seven lines went thusly:

Half the sun pulls the silver bow

⚪A messenger of the gods travels to and fro across all realms

⚪A goddess accompanied by the Charites

⚪A great flame shines down upon us

⚪Chariots sing of victory in war

Thunder booms within the child shunned by his father

The wheel of fate turns within the god of time

When he was done, Owl tapped his pen against the page silently. Clemens peeked at what he’d written and blinked. “What are those circles?” he queried. “Those weren’t part of the lines.”

“Those are just marks to indicate which lines are the truth.”

“The truth?”

“From the first message. ‘So spoke Ptolemy, the truth may only be found in Apollo’s golden crown where the stars align.’”

“I don’t follow. What does it mean?”

Owl rolled his eyes. “I don’t know, maybe try using your brain?” he snarked. “You were a teacher here, weren’t you?”

Clemens’s lips twitched in a smile. It would seem my little plan paid off just as I thought. Plopping him in front of a good code is doing wonders for his mood. He did as instructed, scanning Owl’s notes once more. “Names of planets inscribed on the benches...” he murmured. “Perhaps they’re listed in Ptolemy’s proposed order? That would be the simplest solution.”

“You’re on the right track, but that would make the order the moon, Mercury, Venus, the sun, Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn. It would be too difficult to put all of those in a single line,” pointed out Owl.

“Then the ‘truth found in Apollo’s golden crown’ must be a clue... what does it mean?”

“Apollo is a sun god, so the ‘golden crown’ is the ring of fire around the sun.” Owl tapped the rays of light encircling the sun on the monument. “I marked the four lines that were actually inside the golden crown with a circle in my notes, since those would be the truth. The other three are just there to misdirect.”

“I see. You’re right, these four are etched on top of the sun.”

“And one of those lines is ‘a messenger of the gods travels to and fro across all realms.’”

“A ‘messenger of the gods,’ above the sun’s rays....” Clemens’ eyes lit up. “Ahh, that must be Hermes! Yes, if I recall, one of his symbols was the planet Mercury.”

Owl tapped the symbol for Mercury on his notes. “Right, because in Greek mythology many of the gods were tied to specific celestial bodies. You can probably figure out the rest, right?”

Clemens gestured for him to continue.

“The next one is ‘a goddess accompanied by the Charites.’ Otherwise known as the Graces, the Charites are three goddesses of beauty and grace who serve as attendants of the goddess Aphrodite.”

“Venus,” confirmed Clemens.

“Next, ‘a great flame shines down upon us.’ Obviously the sun. Apollo. Next. ‘Chariots’ and ‘war’ indicate Ares, the god of war, associated with Mars.” As Clemens watched, Owl drew a line connecting the four planets. “Mercury, Venus, the sun, and Mars. Connect these four in the Ptolemaic order, and there’s one spot where the line intersects.” Owl tapped the spot in question.

“Fascinating,” Clemens breathed, peering down at the crossed line. “Now where in the world is this... I suppose we’ll just have to walk over in person and find out. It would be easier if we had a rope, but ah, well, there are plenty of landmarks around.”

Owl followed Clemens’ directions, first moving to stand by the Mercury bench before walking in a straight line to the Venus bench. That straight line included a portion of the fountain and some benches, but Owl ignored them entirely, stepping over the seats and walking through the dried basin like none of it existed. He did the same from the Venus bench to the stone monument that represented the sun, then again from the monument toward the Mars bench....

“... Didn’t I step on this bench before?”

Owl paused with his leg hovering over one of the benches in his path that he’d crossed over moving from Mercury to Venus. Clemens drew closer. “This must be where the path overlaps, then.”

“Apparently.”

Owl tilted his head, inspecting the bench thoroughly. The polished surface of this bench was completely unmarred, no carvings or anything on either the seat or the sides. It was, by all accounts, a completely normal stone bench – a seat, really, since it could only fit one person.

“It looks like normal rock... but...?” Owl’s eyes narrowed. Or rather, eye singular, the one that wore his monocle. “... There are traces of alchemy here,” he reported, bending down to get a better look. Some staff members nearby shot him odd looks, but he paid them no mind. He ran his hands over the stone surface multiple times. “Bologna stone?” he muttered to himself.

“Bolonga stone?” Clemens echoed. “You mean the magic glowing stone?”

“Yeah. It’s been pretty cleverly buried in regular granite here. It glows in the dark. Clemens, tug your hood up and hold it so no light gets in.” Meanwhile, Owl pulled his own hood off and draped it over his head while he bent down over the stone, forming a curtain that blocked the light so he could inspect the stone in darkness.

Elnora, who had been standing off to the side for a while watching the proceedings, finally piped up with arched bows. “... You know you guys just look like weirdos, right?” How else was someone supposed to think of a young man hanging over a piece of rock with a hood curtain on his head?

“Yes, but he’s been a weirdo the whole time,” Clemens replied amiably, still with his hood drawn tight and valiantly bearing the weight of all the staring directed his way.

“Oh, don’t you worry, you’re plenty weird yourself,” Elnora assured him with a lukewarm smile that wiped the smile from Clemens’ face.

Owl, supremely unbothered, did something or other under his hood for a while, then nodded and pulled it off his head. “I see.”

“Did you figure something out?” asked Clemens.

Owl waved his finger in a circle. “The stone is a map of the plaza.”

“A map?”

“Yeah. You wouldn’t be able to see it unless it’s dark, but the phosphorescent stone embedded in the seat is a perfect match for the placements of the benches.

“Truly?” Clemens peered at the seat again, but he couldn’t see the difference. Bolonga stone didn’t glow in bright places.

Owl went on, “So, since it’s a map, that got me thinking about the second part of that first message you read, the ‘magicians, reveal your strength through the star charts and trace your path.’”

“‘Trace your path,’ meaning the path you just walked around the plaza, yes?”

“Right. And then there’s the ‘reveal your strength’ bit. If we can substitute alchemist for magician... in theory, a lock like this usually responds to magic, so.” Owl muttered to himself as he opened his right hand, revealing a golden light building around his pointer finger. Shimmering heat began to waft around the light. He pressed his fingertip to the stone. “Trace the light....” Then he blinked and glanced up at Clemens. “By the way, what’s supposed to happen when we solve the mystery of the monument?” Tracing the path like this was the last step. Surely Clemens knew.

Clemens, however, shook his head and shrugged. “Who knows?”

“You don’t?”

“I don’t. Didn’t I say before that every time the director’s chair changed hands more and more information about the monument was lost? No one knows a thing about it. The current director’s even said that there aren’t any records of where it came from or when it got here and considers it an unsolvable mystery. The current leading theory is that the founder left it here.”

“They just thought it might be a regular old poem or something, huh. But there’s a non-zero chance this is a self-destruct mechanism?”

“Maybe? Though would someone really go to all the trouble of making it self-destruct?”

The two stared silently at each other. Owl thought for a moment, staring at the stone that might explode on him....

“Well, whatever.”

Then with a shrug and a nod, he traced the path he walked earlier onto the stone without hesitation, pouring his energy into the rock.

“You’re really doing it?!” Clemens yelped.

“Yeah, of course I am. I’m curious. And I can’t stand leaving an experiment unfinished.”

“Even thought it might explode?”

“We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it.” Owl glanced back over to Clemens for a moment, perfectly straight-faced. “But either way it’s not my fault, you’re the one who showed it to me.”

“Yeah, that’s on you, Clemens,” Elnora agreed.

Clemens winced. “I may have been a bit hasty –”

PLUNK!!

Just then, something made a noise near the fountain, almost like a plug being pulled out.

“Huh?” Owl’s head shot up, startled. He whirled around. “... What’s that?” he wondered aloud. A small hole had opened up near the center of the fountain where before there had just been a smooth expanse of stone. That was most likely the source of the noise.

Clemens peered at it. “... Is this... a drain line?”

“A what now?”

“You’ve never heard of it? They’re holes drilled into fountains that lead underground to prevent rainwater from accumulating. They’re used when you need to clean a fountain as well, of course.”

“I know that much!” Owl snapped. His eyes darted to the monument, then the plaza, then back to the new little opening at his feet.... “Is this really it? It just opened up a hole?!”

“Looks like it.”

Owl’s mind boggled. “But, such a complex mechanism... it just, opens the drain line?”

“Looks like it.” repeated Clemens.

“It wasn’t a self-destruct button?”

“Did you want it to be?” Clemens patted his shoulder, as if to calm him down.

Owl tore into him for a while after that, punctuating his rant with a final kick to the shin.

“OW!”

original written by Nagaya Kawaji here

#kotonoha project #this might be my favorite chapter Ever #owl is in top form this whole episode it's great #a lot of incidental information here is true and factual #except the architectural styles I made those spellings up

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tvdiaries-imagines · 4 years

Text

Old Flame: Pt. 17

Warnings: Cursing, tobacco use

Word Count: 4694 (the longest chapter so far!)

OLD FLAME MASTERLIST: CLICK HERE

“WHERE IS SHE?!”

Klaus roared throughout the courtyard, furious that you are nowhere to be found after you successfully snapped his neck. The moon was out the last time he’s seen you but waking up, the moon had disappeared and now it’s daylight. He usually wouldn’t have woken up this late from a simple snapped neck, but you took a page out of his book and stuck a vile of vervain in his system after successfully finding his vervain collection.

Hayley and Jackson were across the way on the second floor, having a quiet chat beside the railing. “Who?” Hayley asked, puzzled.

“Y/N!” Klaus shouted, fuming as he’s glancing around the vicinity.

Kol stepped out of one of the rooms on the second floor after hearing a frantic original. Hayley and Jackson stepped inside the nearest room, figuring Kol could handle Klaus. “I thought she was with you, Nik?” Kol brought up.

“Apparently, she said she was fine last night.” Klaus raced towards his brother who sauntered inside the bedroom he’s occupying during his stay. “Then she snapped my bloody neck and disappeared with the stake.” He retrieved his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed your number. After a couple rings, he nearly cursed after being sent to voicemail. It wasn’t a surprise to him since almost every time you’re in a dire situation, your phone is never answered. But, Klaus figured he’d try.

“What happened to her when I left to speak to Esther?” Klaus asked, jaw clenched.

“If I tell you, give me your word that you won’t be cross with me.” Kol eyed him anxiously.

“What did you do?” Klaus muttered in an alarming tone.

“All I did for Y/N was a favor. I had no control of how she’d react.”

“Spit it out, brother. What is it?”

“She was worried about her friend, Kai Parker.” Kol answered. “Figured Esther was behind it, so she requested I find out. Turns out, mother sent him to a prison world and there’s no fixing it.”

“And that’s the reason for her lunacy?” The hybrid’s nostrils flared in aggravation.

“It is.”

“Good riddance. I don’t know what Y/N sees in that imbecile.” Irritation pricked at him.

To add even more stress, an angry Finn Mikaelson immediately walked in, magically breaking one of the vases on the table. “Where is she?”

“Finn, please, join us.” Klaus said with blatant mockery.

“Don’t make me ask again.” Finn sneered.

“I assume you’re referring to our mother. Fear not, she’s tucked away somewhere perfectly safe.” Klaus added. “You’ll never find her.”

“You think you’ve won. Let’s see how long that arrogance lasts, brother.” Finn glared at his brothers before turning around and marching away with heavy steps.

Klaus tried reaching you again but was sent to voicemail. That alone ticked him off and he was close to throwing his cell phone at the brick wall.

“I’m going to find Y/N. You’re coming with me, Kol.” Klaus made his way out of the bedroom in lengthy steps.

“Oh, splendid.” Kol responded back, trailing behind his brother.

Reaching the courtyard, there were a handful of Hayley’s wolf allies and Marcel’s group of vamps gathered together. Klaus is aware that it’s Hayley and Marcel’s attempt for them to make a truce for the bigger picture.

“Klaus, stop!” Hayley blurted, Klaus and Kol stopped in their tracks.

“Finn spelled all of the exits. We can’t leave.” Marcel added.

Klaus put a palm up at eye view, slowly reaching out until his skin sizzled against the spelled blockade, letting out a faint groan from the affliction. He threw his healing hand down to his side and shifted his view to his youngest brother, expression hardened. “Fantastic.” Klaus muttered sarcastically.

(Meanwhile…)

After disappearing into the night, you booked a suite at the Ritz-Carlton. You’re aware that Klaus has plenty of connections, so you assured that you didn’t put a card on file in case he traces it. Instead, you compelled the staff to allow you to stay for free. You even took extra precautions and showed them a photo of Klaus so that if he ever steps foot into the Ritz-Carlton, they’ll notify you right away.

Having your humanity off so far has been dandy because you had no care in the world. If you were your normal self, there’s no doubt that you would be following Klaus around like a lost puppy during one of his missions and the thought made you sick to your stomach right now.

You woke up this afternoon to your suite nearly trashed from the little party you decided to throw last night because you gathered a handful of good looking people from bourbon street and plenty of liquor to keep you inebriated throughout the night. A man and a woman stayed overnight, thanks to your compulsion. You knew you’d be famished this afternoon and fresh blood ultimately did the trick for you.

After an incredible shower and devouring your sinful snacks, you compelled your victims to bandage up their wrists and be on their way. Housekeeping began tidying up your suite after you made your way out.

Though your craving for blood is fulfilled, you desired a hot bowl of gumbo, so you threw on your sunglasses and trekked through the quarter, crossing your fingers that your pesky beau isn’t looking high and low for you in the area. Your heels clicked along the cement, wearing your best black dress sitting pretty just above your knees.

Gumbo Shop was what you decided on and the friendly host sat you down at a table inside, farthest away from the windows. She did as expected by leaving a menu with you and handing you off to a server.

Within the hour, all of your cravings are satisfied so you left a generous tip for your server and went on your merry way. You weren’t sure what you planned to do next, so you allowed the city to decide for you. A street performer captured your attention so you stopped to observe.

Out of the blue, you spot Finn Mikaelson nearly walking past you in a rush. “Hi Finn. Why are you always so glum?” You teased, brow raised. He put a halt to his steps, hands behind his back. He wore a dark suit, the jacket fully unbuttoned.

“No use in going home anytime soon, dear Y/N.” He implied arrogantly. “Nobody can get in or out, thanks to my spell.”

“I wasn’t planning on it, but alright.” In the blink of an eye, Finn strolled away. “Change of plans I guess.” You smirked.

(Later…)

Entering through the gates of the compound, you discovered over a dozen people in the courtyard. It seemed like they were not enjoying themselves whatsoever. There were a few familiar faces as well, including Marcel, Josh and Hayley. You wondered if Klaus or Kol managed to get trapped here as well since they weren’t in the space from what you can see. Your presence seemed to catch everyone’s attention though.

“Don’t you all look cozy.” Your haughty tone was obvious.

“Y/N wait!” Marcel alerted. “Don’t take another step. Finn put up a boundary spell.”

“Thanks for the heads up Marcel. But I already knew that. I bumped into Finn earlier.”

“But you came anyway?” Marcel raised a brow in suspicion.

You shrugged your shoulders in response, leaning against the wall close enough to the invisible barrier. Once everyone else besides Marcel realized that you were no help in freeing them, they were no longer interested in your presence and went back to sulking.

“Ah I see.” He came to a realization. “You’re here to gloat. Why?”

“There you are.” Klaus appeared from the shadows. His edge of irritation returned and drew a scowl over his face.

“Here I am.” You were feeling exceptionally smug. While examining your fingernails, you planned to get a manicure after this foolish conversation.

“Where the bloody hell have you been?”

You showed uninterest without any eye contact as you pulled a cigarette and lighter from your purse. You placed the toxic stick in between your lips, lighting the end of it and taking a puff effortlessly as if you’ve always been a smoker. Klaus glared at your repulsive act.

“I’ve been around.” You responded after exhaling, finally making eye contact with the hybrid.

“Care to explain why you felt it was necessary to render me unconscious for hours on end and then scurry off to god knows where.” With a brisk elevator look, he motioned a nagging hand at you. Klaus was displeased with your outfit choice without him there to claw the eyes out of every man that looks at you with hungry eyes.

He almost asked you about the whereabouts of the white oak stake, but he remembered that there are ears around that he doesn’t trust.

“The thought of having to explain to you bores me.” You fake yawned. “So I don’t think I will.”

“Something’s different about her, Nik.” Kol added, his mouth set in a hard line.

“I’m aware. Her humanity must be off.” Klaus made his way closer towards you, stopping as close to the barrier as he could. You stepped over to be face to face with him, sniggering.

“There ya go.” You snorted in amusement, the toxic stick weighing at your sides, carelessly flicking off the ash on the grounds of the compound. “You really aren’t the dumbest Mikaelson, Nik.” Klaus ignored your unnecessary comment, his firing eyes following the cigarette going from your mouth to your sides.

Kol began sauntering over to his brother, standing side by side. “Oh sister. Your humanity, eh?” He shook his head in disappointment, arms folded across his chest. “I thought you were bigger than this.”

You dropped the half finished cigarette on the concrete by your feet, crushing the butt with the ball of your stiletto. “My favorite Mikaelson brother is disappointed in me.” Your hand flew to your chest, fake pouting. “I’m crushed. I really am.”

“Stop this nonsense immediately, Y/N.” Klaus said, a scowl strewn across his face.

“Or what?”

“Do not test me.”

“Well last time I checked, you’re trapped in there while I’m free out here. So joke’s on you, my love.” You teased.

A sinister chuckle left Klaus’s mouth. “You shut off your humanity for whom? A useless dullard.” You stared at the ceiling, placing your hands at your hips. “Out of all the choices Esther has made in life, I’d say that sending Sir Malachai Parker back to the prison world was the best one.” He grinned, hoping to have hit a nerve to get your humanity back. “It pleases me knowing that he will be stuck there for all eternity. All alone.” He chose his words carefully and perfectly.

Suddenly, your hands fell and your blank eyes set onto Klaus’s, unmoving. By your reaction, there was a glimmer of a chance that it worked. You grasped both of the Mikaelsons’ undivided attention.

“Nice try.” You cocked your head to your side, your once unreadable expression is now evidently complacent and it boiled Klaus’s blood. His hands clenched at his sides as he’s trying to hide his defeat from you. Kol just simply sighed at their defeat, aware that it was a longshot anyways. “I’m bored. Bye boys.” Without a care in the world, you turned on your heel and departed the compound.

Once you were out of sight, Kol turned to face his brother who was still looking at the spot you were once standing at, unable to mutter any words. “Nik?” Kol murmured, careful not to overwhelm him.

After a beat, Klaus continued to ignore his brother and vacated the spot where he stood. He made his way towards a vacant section of the compound. Kol followed behind him.

Before Klaus could touch the handle of one of the doors on the first floor, Kol attempted to acquire his attention for the second time. “Brother?” Klaus puts a halt to his long strides, taking a deep breath.

In the blink of an eye, he vamp speeds to Kol, barely leaving any space in between the two as his murderous eyes bore into Kol’s. “Don’t.” Klaus warned through clenched teeth. That dangerous tone itself informed Kol to leave him alone in the meantime. And just like that, Klaus swung the door open and violently slammed it behind him, causing a few of the other vampires and wolves to flinch.

Your mani and pedi finished in an hour. You began scouring the quarter for inspiration on what other shenanigans to get into again. After walking in and out of a few gift shops along the way and stopping to tip some of the street performers, you finally stumbled upon bourbon street.

Normally you’d throw your money at the bartenders in one of the many jazz clubs, however, house music blared through one of the other clubs and it instantaneously called your name. Males and females in their 20s occupied this loud space, yet, you didn’t mind one bit because they’re of your age compared to your 1000 year old lover with anger issues.

Dancing and mingling with these fine people made your current cold heart wish that Camille was here to join you. But you wouldn’t dare risk having her call Klaus or Kol and informing them of your whereabouts. Who knows, you might end up snapping her neck dead for doing so and you didn’t care to waste your energy. Marcel and Josh could be trusted not to tell a soul, however, they’re trapped in the compound.

You released your sharp teeth from a poor soul’s neck on the dance floor undiscovered. The warmth of her blood brought you satisfaction. “Go wipe that up in the restroom.” You compelled her and she walked off like a zombie.

(Meanwhile…)

The longer time passed with the magical barrier being up, the more Marcel and his vamps’s hunger grew for blood. It wasn’t looking good for Kol and the werewolves. They were practically walking blood bags.

To make matters worse, Klaus’s patience started running out. He needed to get to you before you caused any havoc or came to any harm. This is the first time you’ve ever turned your humanity off so he has no idea what to expect. The feeling made him sick to his stomach. Not to mention, the white oak stake can be anywhere but he trusts you’re smart enough to have it hidden somewhere good.

The entirety of the barrier will not diminish until nightfall and they couldn’t wait that long. But to their luck, it’s a miracle that Davina fancied Kol. She received a phone call from him, needing her assistance for a spell to lift the barrier and she put whatever she was doing on hold to come to his aid.

They were almost certain that the spell would work. However, being that Finn is channeling something extremely powerful, they were only to be given 60 seconds for the barrier to be down. The plan was to have the wolves, Kol and Klaus exit the vicinity.

Davina and Kol now stood face to face with the invisible barrier in between, palms as close to touching as it would allow them. Small, lighted candles lined up in front of the witches and a circle of salt surrounded them as they continued muttering their spell to one another.

Due to the spell taking its course, all of the vampires needed to resort to cowering in the shadows until after Kol and Davina’s spell die out. Klaus and the wolves were allowed to wait beside the barrier.

A gust of wind abruptly flew through Kol and Davina, causing the candles to blow out and some of the salt to scatter. They exchanged smiles and were relieved to have the chance to touch palms.

“Okay, Jack. Now!” Hayley announced.

“Come on, let’s go.” Jackson didn’t hesitate to rush his pack out of there, guiding them towards the exit along with Hayley.

“Remember, 60 seconds!” Kol reminded them. He was eager for the werewolves to egress and then he followed suit.

But before Kol could take another step, Klaus dashed to him, holding him by the shoulder. “Slight change of plans, brother.” In a trice, he threw Kol in the air until he landed about 50 feet away, grunting in pain. “I no longer have to treat you like anything but the treacherous liar you truly are.” The hybrid spat. Davina’s neck snapped to him, bewildered.

“What the bloody hell?” Kol gradually sat up, feeling just as confused as Davina.

“Where is she?” Klaus questioned, vampires eyeing his brother hungrily while they still waited in the shadows.

“Please, they’ll kill him!” Davina pleaded.

“Well, he should’ve thought about that before he betrayed our sister.”

“What will Y/N think?!” She added.

“Not to worry about my beloved’s opinions of Kol’s predicament. Let’s just say, she’s not herself today.” Klaus replied to Davina before returning his attention to the mischievous Mikaelson, who now rose to his feet. “Rebekah never made it to her new body, did she? Seeing as how you casted the spell, and well, you’re you. I’d hardly call it an uncrackable case.”

“Rebekah’s fine, Nik. It was a prank.” Kol quicked marched towards his older brother. “Nothing more than what you lot have done to me.” He pointed a nagging finger. “But I guess it’s different when it’s one-” The magical blockade was up and running again and its wrath burned Kol’s pale hand, causing him to reel backwards and hiss in pain.

“Barrier’s back up.” Klaus flickered his eyes at the ravenous vampires coming out of the shadows. “And those vampires look oh so hungry.”

Kol grew anxious as the vampires made their way to him like a predator ready to take down its prey. Davina’s eyes began to well up in tears, yearning to come to Kol’s aid.

“I was willing to welcome you back into my home, but you had to return to your selfish petty jealousies.” Klaus said. “Well, let’s see how they help you survive when you’re stuck in there!” He stormed off towards the exit without the thought of a glance. He felt no remorse whatsoever for his little brother.

(Meanwhile…)

The sun began to set and it was no secret that you look damned good in the tight dress and towering heels. A handful of men even offered to pay for your drinks and you obviously obliged although you could’ve easily compelled them to. This made your job much easier.

Since you were pretty buzzed and in an amazing mood, you allowed one of the pathetic men to dance with you, only being allowed to touch your arms or your waist.

Due to the substantial amount of liquor in his system, his confidence was at an all time high and he attempted to lean in for a kiss. You snorted at his juvenile gesture and turned the other cheek. “N-Nice try. Fun’s over.”

“Oh come on.” He insisted. As you were about to free yourself of his hold, he tightened his grip on your waist and it caught you off guard. Little does he know that you aren’t human, so you prepared yourself to use your vampire strength to free yourself. You smirked, allowing him this minor moment before you stripped it away from him.

The drunkard fool leaned forward once again to press his lips onto yours while his hands stroked your waist. You rolled your eyes, snickering as you seized his wrists. “I said-” In a flash, he was thrown across the dancefloor but it wasn’t because of you. Some of the clubbers' attention were focused on what just happened and others acted like nothing happened. Before he could think to stand to his feet, one of the sizable bouncers roughly brought him to his feet to begin dragging him out.

Everything happened so fast and you focused your view to the only person standing beside you to your left. Klaus Mikaelson. “Oh fuck you, Nik.” You grimaced at your inessential savior, your heels rapidly clicking off of the dance floor towards the exit. As much as you wished to vamp speed away, you were smart enough not to do it in the public eye. Humanity off or not.

Instead of hiding off in an alley, you stayed put by the entrance of the club where passersby can clearly see you, leaning against one of the brick walls. You searched through your small purse until you found a cigarette and lighter, but as you were about to light it, rough fingers pulled it out of your mouth.

Klaus didn’t mutter a word, but you can tell by the expression on his face and his body language that he was seething inwardly. You were revelling in the moment. “I’m a vampire. I can’t get lung cancer, idiot.” You scoffed at him. As much as you want to try to light another cigarette, you know that Klaus is just going to toss it.

“We’re going.” He grabbed a hold of your bare upper arm, signaling to follow him or suffer the consequences. You shook his grip off, unphased by it.

“You’re hilarious.” You said, keeping your feet planted to the ground. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“I’m serious, love. This isn’t a game. Let’s go.” Klaus remarked, towering over you.

You peered up at him through your lashes, shooting daggers. “Did you forget? I don’t fucking care. Now leave me alone.” You shot him a glare and attempted to walk past him, but he stepped to the side as a wall.

“You out of all people know what I am capable of.” Klaus started. “And yet, you are determined to incur my wrath.”

“Your wrath?” You snorted. “Okay then, show me. Right here, right now. In front of all of these people.” Klaus took a peep over your head, unmoving. You hummed in amusement. “I thought so.”

You wasted no time and began trekking down bourbon street’s sidewalk, unsure of where you are headed as long as it’s away from Klaus. You freed your cell phone from your purse and began endlessly scrolling through social media, ensuring not to bump into anyone coming your way.

To your misfortune, Klaus materialized beside you, walking on the outside of the sidewalk. “Oh, you’re still here.” You said dryly, eyes never leaving the screen.

“In what world is this heretic worth your humanity?” He asked, disgusted. His eyes flickered from straight ahead to you.

“My world, apparently.”

“You know, you have people that could have helped you. There’s Stefan, Damon, Kol.” One by one, Klaus counted up to three fingers in the air before going back to relaxing his hand at his side. “Even Rebekah, if it weren’t for Kol’s foolish prank.”

“Good to know, Nik.”

He gazed at you, swallowing before speaking. “You also had me.”

“I can see that since you keep following me.” You finally peeled your eyes from your phone, throwing it back in your purse, raising your chin up at Klaus. He briskly narrowed his eyes, not allowing your cold response to get to him.

“Oh come now, sweetheart. Let’s not make this difficult for the both of us.”

“You’re making it difficult for yourself.” You waved an airy hand. “Now shoo, you’re killing the vibe.”

“Alright then, Y/N. I’ve been far more patient with you.” Klaus creeped up behind you and swiftly cracked your spine so that you were comatose. Then, he scooped you into his arms so that he held you bridal style.

To his luck, his swift, yet flawless gesture didn’t get a second look from anyone in the crowd. It seemed as if you were absurdly tipsy and he prevented you from falling to your knees. He felt a pang of relief and his tense shoulders relaxed knowing he can safely bring you home.

(Later…)

Finn’s barrier spell throughout the Mikaelson compound is now nonexistent. It is dead silent and the only two souls occupying this vast structure are you and the original hybrid for now. Your limp, unconscious body is tied to a wooden chair including your wrists and your ankles.

Klaus has been pacing for the past few minutes, conjuring up different plans to mentally bring back the woman he loves, instead of this facade of a nightmare that is taking over. And hell, if it weren’t for your humanity switch, he would revel in tearing that dress off of you and making love to you until the sunrise.

The sudden sound of your groaning put a halt to his steps. He watched as your head steadily moved up and you cracked your neck. Your eyes caught a glimpse of your surroundings which appears to be one of the many rooms in this godforsaken building. You raised a brow at your lover who is standing merely a few feet away just ahead of you. “This doesn’t look like the Ritz-Carlton.” You said in your head.

“It would be impolite if I didn’t ask how your catnap was.” Klaus commented, wearing a shit eating grin.

“It was fantastic.” You returned his cocky expression with a flashing smile of your own.

“Now that I have you where you can’t simply walk off, let’s get to business then, shall we?” Klaus took amble strides towards you and kneeled until he was at eye level with you. “This will only take a second.” He noted, voice low enough for only the two of you to hear.

As soon as his irises stared into yours, you turned your chin to the right, but Klaus was quick to seize your jaw with his strong fingers, shifting your view back to him. You knew exactly what his intentions were at that very moment.

He’s going to compel you.

The location of the white oak stake is still unknown to him and since he is closer to getting you back to your normal self, he’ll finally get the stake back.

“Get on with it already. I don’t have all day.” You implied. Klaus kept his frustration in check from your moronic remark and went on with what he intended to do.

Your eyes focused on his, observing his pupils fascinatingly growing and shrinking. "You will put an end to this madness and turn it back on.” He released his grasp on your face.

You blinked twice and your lips parted, chest rising and falling. “Nik.” You paused. “I-” Klaus began freeing one wrist from the bindings.

“What is it?” He asked, concerned.

As soon as one wrist was free, you sneered at him and before he could blink, you tore off the arm of the chair, flipped it over so that the sharp bit pointed out and stabbed Klaus in the neck with it. “Ah!” He called out, face contorting from the unexpected laceration.

Obviously, you could have simply kept playing it off as if your humanity was back so that Klaus frees you of all of the restraints. But, you wanted to poke fun at him instead. Inflicting pain onto Klaus was significantly more gratifying right now.

“You really thought you had me there, didn’t you?” You let out a burst of laughter. Klaus cried out in pain while pulling the stick of wood out of his neck and tossing it to the floor, taking heavy breaths as the gash healed. “Nice try, Nik. But I’ve been drinking vervain as of late. Thanks to Stefan and Damon for the tip.”

Instead of inflicting the pain back to you or snapping your neck to shut you up, Klaus stormed out of the room to overlook the courtyard from the railing. As much as he wanted to rip the railing off from his frustration, he shockingly kept his cool and an idea came to mind. He obtained his cell phone from his pant pocket and dialed a familiar number.

After many rings, his call was answered.

“Klaus?” The voice on the other line said.

“Hello, old friend.” Klaus grinned, oddly comforted to hear their voice. “I’m in need of a favor.”

A/N: Hope you guys appreciated the longer chapter!! I know the last one had a lot of Y/N x Kol moments, so I gave you guys more of Y/N x Klaus moments in this one. I have to say, it was quite fun writing with Y/N’s humanity off. And it was especially fun writing Klaus’s responses to it lol...Oh and I’m sure you guys can guess who Klaus’s ‘old friend’ is :)

TAGS: @ynm1505 @ravenmoore14@xdontxcare @seasiren96@anyasthoughts @woodworthti666 @agentmarvel13@miss-lumiere@elizabeth-ann1090 @physically-a-cheesecake@azhar1422 @morsmornte @retrocontessa @kollover24 @thewolf-and-thesheep @xoxoaudreymarie @dezzym17@siphonersalvatore @yolobloggers @akshi8278 @simonsaysyasss @eggingamazinglove @brooklymw @baseballbitch116 @hyperion-moonbabe @iamjustaslytherinrose @lillianeh879 @hannahzlee @bokettolove @gangofhoes @sashimi-cat @marvel-ousnesss @deathkat657 @rauwz @star-adorned @bobamilqtea @lunareclipse-e @krazykatkay456 @geeksareunique @hybridgirl99 @romyislief @psychicwinnerstranger @catchmeupimgettingoutofhere @derangedcupcake @yaniiie @classyunknownlover @britty443 @mockingjayd12 @ophellis @prospathww @the-specific-oceans @riverdaleserpent04 @bank-of-rubytowne @ballet-royale @sunflowersandsins @fakebeech @alka16555 @allllzcatt-blog @hyperion-moonbabe-art3mis @its4everjenny @mikaelson-emma @lilulo-12 @unhappy-hannah @hookedtoherfire @smol-quackson @hxppy-ghxst @ivarthegoddess @nick-1432 @simonsbluee @0moonlightthoughts0 @proudjaden @lalunasuenos @blonddnamedhandz @princekooks @supernatural-swiftie08 @2kayla64 @hernameisnoellex3 @grim91103 @asusualitasterin @un-namedstalker @a-who-e @mother-dearest-loves-me @un-namedstalker @lauren-novak @elijahspersonalwifeyyy @wayward-river @random-stupid-stuffs @fangirlforever2412 @girlqrush

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on-maars · 3 years

Text

Wonder

Just a soft lil thing I wrote in one sitting, hope you’ll like it.

Read it on AO3.

The Grant-Nash household is loud. Louder than usual, that is. Conversations flow smoothly, moving from one topic to the next rapidly. That makes Eddie smile. The last few months were quite the challenge, in every way, for everyone.

Whether it be Athena and Bobby’s marriage hanging on by a thread, Maddie suffering from postpartum depression, Karen and Hen getting used to Nia’s absence, it was enough for everyone to feel a bit under pressure, feel overwhelmed, afflicted, weighed down.

And there was also that day. That particular day. Still on Eddie’s mind, all the time. No matter how hard the people surrounding him try to forget about the whole thing.

There seems to be a common agreement between all his colleagues, all his friends. A silent promise everyone made to each other. A pact. That day’s here and it happened but god forbid we dare to acknowledge it.

And Eddie gets it. That day was a living hell. It was traumatic. For him, for Buck, and for Christopher. And don’t get him wrong he doesn’t particularly like to be reminded of that day either, doesn’t particularly like to mention it, let alone talk about it. But sometimes he wishes he could. Sometimes he wishes he had that possibility.

But he doesn’t. He knows he doesn’t.

He tried.

He tried bringing up the topic in the conversations. He tried making a few innuendos here and there, hoping Buck would catch up. He tried being patient, let his friend heal first. In vain. And Eddie knows Buck and him are not really the type to sit down and talk about their feelings, hell good communications skills don’t exactly run in his family either but he knows how to make an effort every now and then. He learned it the hard way. Raising a kid on your own doesn’t exactly give you a choice in the matter.

And yet, Eddie still smiles. Because they’re here now. They’re alive. Celebrating.

Bobby’s here, talking with Michael with hushed voices, David standing a few feet away with Albert, keeping a close watch on the barbecue while glancing at the two of them with what Eddie can only guess is an exasperated expression painted all over his face.

Hen, Karen and Athena are both seated at the table, seemingly engaged in a very lively conversation. Chimney is resting on a nearby chair, a very fast asleep Jee-Yun in his arms, both of them being subject to a series of pictures taken by May.

And then there’s Buck, sprawled on the grass, Christopher, Harry and Denny by his side, all laughing to tears. This brings a smile to Eddie’s lips.

“So I heard my brother wasn’t exactly planning on leaving you guys anytime soon?” Maddie asks next to him. “From what Albert told Chim, he’s got the loft all by himself for at least two months.”

Eddie chuckles and looks down at his hands, his cheeks turning red. There’s an implicit question behind Maddie’s words, an implicit question waiting to be answered. It’s not the first time Eddie has to face these hidden allusions from Maddie and as his eyes are being drawn to Buck once again, he realizes he doesn’t really mind.

“Yeah, he- he’s staying put.” Eddie admits. “After… After everything that happened, I think we all needed to-” He starts, but marks a pause. “Christopher needed him there.”

“Christopher’s the only one who needed him there?” Maddie asks and Eddie’s breath catches in his throat.

He shouldn’t be surprised, though. After all, Eddie hid his true feelings behind his son countless times in the past but it’s the first time he’s actually being confronted about it. It’s easy, hiding himself behind Christopher. It’s comfortable. And it makes him look like a great dad while really his son is just a thousand times braver than he ever will be. That’s not a secret to anyone.

Still, he finds himself saying:

“No.” Maddie looks up at him, smiling softly. “No, I needed him there as well.” Eddie finally admits. “I needed him to stay.” He adds. “I’ll always need him to stay.” He says more specifically, averting his eyes.

“Does he know?” She asks.

“That I want him to stay?” Eddie darts his eyes towards her but only for a second. He looks away just as fast. “Yeah. Yeah I think I made that pretty clear.” He chuckles, thinking back of all the times he had to physically drag Buck away from the front door, making it clear that he’s not “overstaying his welcome” or whatever Buck’s got stuck in his mind.

“No, I mean-” Maddie’s eyes shuttle back and forth on Eddie’s face, as if battling whether to be upfront or leave the conversation hanging. Eventually, she sighs, takes a deep breath and adds, without batting an eye: “Does he know you’re in love with him?”

Eddie blinks a few times, opening his mouth to say something but closing it the next second. There’s no need to deny it – he thinks. Not after this past few months, not after what happened. Not after that day. There’s no need to deny it because his love for Buck, once so quiet, so cautious, so calm, is now so big, so vibrant, Eddie might as well take his heart and put it on a plate for everyone to see.

“I- I’m not sure.” He says and his eyes are drawn to Buck once again. His best-friend is still seated on the grass but this time he's holding his niece in his arms, Christopher is touching her hands very carefully, like he’s afraid she might break. Buck looks up at Eddie and for a few seconds, their eyes meet. Buck has that soft expression on his face, that soft expression only reserved to the two most important people in his life. And Eddie smiles, because how can he not?

“He must know.” He convinces himself out loud. “There’s no way he doesn’t kn-”

“Did you tell him?” Maddie insists. “Did you tell him these exact same words?” She asks. “Did you tell him to his face?”

“No.” Eddie admits.

“Then he doesn’t know.” She says. “Eddie, it doesn’t matter how many signs you throw at him. It doesn’t matter if you think there’s no need to say anything because he’s got to be blind not to see it. It doesn’t matter because at the end of the day it’s Buck we’re talking about, it’s my baby brother and you and I both know he’s not going to let himself believe it until there’s not a single doubt in his mind that this is what’s happening, that you’re in it just as much as he is.”

“I-” Eddie starts but looks down, biting his lower lip. “I know.”

“And unless you tell him to his face that you’re in love with him then-”

“Then, the doubts won’t stop.” Eddie finishes for her, his eyes still fixated on Buck as a small sigh escapes his lips.

“The doubts won’t stop.” Maddie agrees.

“It’s just-” Eddie’s hand fidgets with his keys in his jean’s pocket, nervously. “The way he loves. It’s always so…”

“Loud?” Maddie offers and Eddie huffs out a laugh.

He nods. “Yeah. Loud. And- and carefree. And you know, I- it's a good thing. I mean I’ve always-” He starts, and sighs, closing his eyes fiercely. “It’s a good thing.” He repeats. “But you’d think he has it all figured out.” He says, his eyes catching Buck’s gaze once again. He seems tired. Eddie can see it by the way his lips stretch up at the edges in an effort to smile but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. But it’s mostly the dark rings under his eyes that leads Eddie in the right direction. Buck thinks the others can’t see them, he thinks he can conceal them by acting overly excited, overly cheerful, and maybe it goes unnoticed by the others but not to Eddie. Never to Eddie.

“He has a big heart.” Maddie eventually says, following Eddie’s gaze until her own eyes are fixed on her little brother. “People often mistake it for over-confidence.” She adds. “But the truth is that he’s as terrified as you are. Maybe more.” She marks a pause. “Probably more.”

Eddie nods to himself, his smile getting bigger when he sees Buck standing up straight, crossing the few meters separating him from Eddie and Maddie. He lets himself fall on the chair with a heavy thud, raising his eyes towards Eddie, his smile always so soft, always so gentle. Eddie wants to embrace him and kiss him senseless.

“Hey.” Buck’s voice is hesitant. “Huh Chris asked me if he could stay the night here with Harry and Denny. I said yes. I thought- although I guess I- I guess I should maybe have checked with you first, I’m sor-”

“It’s fine.” Eddie smiles.

“You sure? Because I can-”

“Evan.” Eddie cuts in, and the effect is immediate. Like it always is when he uses Buck’s real name. He whirls his head around and looks at him with a mixture of disbelief and confusion in his eyes. Eddie thinks he can see some traces of hope in there, too.

“Didn’t know you had the Evan privileges.” Maddie teases and Buck looks down at his hands with a sheepish smile, blinking a few times like he can’t quite believe it himself.

“Wanna go back home?” Eddie asks. “I’m beat.” He says. It’s a lie. He’s feeling great, and he could probably stay there for a few more hours if he wanted, but that’s not Buck’s case. That’s not Buck’s case and his best-friend is just too damn selfless to say it and would probably be ready to fall asleep on that chair if it meant Eddie was having a good time.

“Oh yeah we can… We can go home.”

They say goodbye to everyone and head out, not before Eddie makes Christopher promise to behave and not give Athena and Bobby too much trouble. He holds him against him for a while, kissing his head and his heart flutters when he sees Buck hugs him just as tight the next second.

When they get to the car, Buck is nervous, his head is resting on the window and his eyes are glancing to Eddie from time to time, his eyebrows squint in concentration, just like when he’s searching the answer to one of Christopher’s math exercise. It’s never a good sign. Eddie knows him well enough to understand that Buck is on the verge of falling into one of these overthinking traps that always seem to be on the lookout for the next opportunity to invade his best-friend’s mind.

The car drive is silent, the atmosphere filled with a sense of irresolution no one dares to question. And Eddie knows all too well that now is probably not the best time to have that conversation, not while driving, not while Buck is in that state. But Maddie’s words are stuck in his head since they left that house and if he doesn’t acknowledge the elephant in the room now, he’s afraid it might take him another two months to have the guts to say it.

“You do know I’m in love with you, right?” He blurts out and Buck whirls his head around so fast Eddie’s afraid he might break his neck. He seems surprised. His eyes are wide open and his mouth is agape, his eyebrows furrowed, his brain probably working too fast for his head to catch up.

“I-” He starts but his voice dies in his throat. “I didn’t- I mean I wasn’t- I wasn’t sure.” Buck stutters, blinking a few times.

“Well, I am.” Eddie says, pretending to be calm about it all while really, his hands hold the wheel so tight his knuckles go white.

“I just-” Buck says, and stays silent for a few seconds to gather his thoughts. “Ever since that day, there were- there were times when I thought that maybe you- But I couldn’t be sure. And you never- you never spoke of it and I-”

“I never spoke of it because you never let me, Buck.” Eddie marks a pause, but speaks again just as fast when he sees the flash of guilt crossing his friend’s eyes. “I don’t blame you.” He reassures him. “I’ve been in your position countless times in the past to know that that day must have been as traumatic for you as it was for me. Maybe even more, I mean I- I was asleep the whole time, after all. You were the one who had to-” Eddie pauses when he sees Buck’s face suddenly contorted with excruciating pain – agony, even – but he pushes through it all the same. “You were the one who had to deal with everything.”

“Eddie, I-”

Eddie bites his lower lip when he sees his best-friend’s eyes already filled with tears.

“Buck, you saved me.” Eddie says, his voice determined.

“No I-” Buck shakes his head. “I let you down.”

“You saved me.” Eddie repeats, with even more vigor. “Evan.” He says. “Look at me.” He adds, glancing at Buck, knowing he now has his full attention. The blue eyes staring back at him are filled with pain, agony, and Eddie knows his friend is back there again, in the streets, watching him bleed to death in front of him.

“I didn’t-” Buck starts and suddenly tears are rolling down his cheeks and his lips are shaking and his shoulders slump alarmingly as ugly sobs start racking his body. He presses his hand through his eyes, as if to hide himself from his best-friend but the noise coming from his mouth is desperate and angry and broken and Eddie doesn’t waste anytime to park his car on the roadside. “You were dead, Eds.”

“Buck.” Eddie breathes. “I wasn’t- you saved me alright?”

“No Eds, you don’t understand, alright? You were dead. You died . In that ambulance. I- I was telling you to hold on but you- you died. For a few seconds Eddie, you- you were dead. You were gone. I thought I had lost you and I couldn’t- I couldn’t-” Another sob racks his body and Eddie wraps his arms around his shoulders, bringing him closer. Buck hides his face on his chest and Eddie holds him close as he cries, his entire body shaking from exhaustion, from all the pressure he contained during this past few months.

“You never told me that.” He eventually says, his own voice shaking.

“Didn’t want to go back there.” Buck answers and his voice is so small Eddie just holds him a little closer, a little tighter, his right hand running through his blonde locks. He presses a small kiss to his head and closes his eyes, letting his forehead rest against his hair. "You were fine and I wanted - I needed - to focus on that."

“I love you.” Eddie tells him. “Buck, how can you think you let me down while you’re literally the only reason I’m sitting in this car next to you? You saved me. You took care of my son. You took care of me . Even when I was being a whiny little shit.” Eddie smiles when a small laugh escapes Buck’s lips. “You did so good. You always do.”

“Wasn’t easy.” Buck teases him but his voice still betrays his true feelings.

“And yet, you stayed.” Eddie reminds him.

“Yeah well…” Buck answers like it’s not a big deal. “Where- where else would I go?”

Eddie huffs out a laugh and presses his lips on Buck’s shoulder when this one buries his face in the crook of his neck, still trying to catch his breath.

“Move in with us.” Eddie finds himself blurting out, causing Buck to sit straight once again, watching him with a bewildered expression on his face. “I mean it.”

“I- what- what about Chris?” Buck asks because of course that’s the first thought that crosses his mind. His son’s well-being.

“What about him?” Eddie asks, his eyebrows raised.

“I don’t- maybe he doesn’t want me there all the time.” Buck starts and frowns when Eddie huffs out a laugh.

“Yeah, right.” Eddie answers, unimpressed. “That kid would probably kill me if I ever let you go back to your loft and you know it.” He adds. “He adores you, Buck.”

Buck’s eyes dart towards him, his shy and sheepish smile stretching up his lips.

“What about you? Do you want me there?” Buck asks, hesitant.

“Buck I’m the one who asked.” Eddie says. “You’re practically already living with us anyway. Wouldn’t change a single thing. Except that you- well you definitely wouldn’t sleep in the spare room anymore.”

“But I wouldn’t-”

“Buck, can you please stop finding excuses and say yes already?” Eddie asks, exasperated. He still places his right hand behind his neck though, and looks at him dead in the eye when he says these next few words. “I want you there with us. All the time. Every day.”

“Alright.” Buck eventually says. “I- I’ll stay.” He adds.

“Good.” Eddie smiles, and when Buck’s eyes dart towards his lips for just a second, he doesn’t waste any time and crash their lips together in a gentle, soft kiss, tasting Buck’s tears.

“I- I love you too.” Buck says after a few minutes. “I just- just realized I still haven’t said it back.”

“You didn’t have to.” Eddie answers. “I already knew.”

Buck smiles a bit more, but another serious look crosses his face as he bites his lower lip.

“Thank you.” And Eddie heard these words a thousand times before from Buck’s mouth but in that particular moment, they seem to hold more meaning that he can possibly imagine. “For saying it first.”

Eddie intertwines their fingers together and presses a small kiss on Buck’s knuckles, starting the car.

“Anything for you, Evan.” Eddie says and huffs out a small laugh when he hears Buck’s groan resonating in the car. He puts his indicator on and turns his wheel to follow the road back home, his hand still holding Buck’s fingers.

“I-” Buck starts but seems to hesitate. His gaze is stuck on the road, like he’s afraid to meet Eddie’s eyes when he’s going to say these next few words.

“You what?” Eddie encourages him.

“I like it.” Buck says, keeping his voice low. “When you- when you call me Evan.”

“Oh I know.” Eddie teases him.

“You’re doing it on purpose, aren’t you?” He asks him, smiling.

“One hundred percent.” Eddie confirms. “Only way to be sure I’ve got your undivided attention.”

“Oh, fuck you.” Buck exclaims, rolling his eyes at him.

“Maybe later.” Eddie raises his eyebrows in a suggested manner and Buck only scoffs, but Eddie can already see his cheeks turning red.

“Alright alright, eyes on the road, Edmundo .” Buck says playfully and Eddie lets out a laugh. “I love you.” These words seem to slip past Buck’s lips of their own accord.

“Love you more.” Eddie instantly retorts.

“Well I loved you first.” Buck answers.

“Bold assumption you make here, Buckley.”

“Let’s hash that out at home.” Buck tells him, resting his head on the window, his voice tired and his eyes closed.

“Alright.” Eddie answers. “But you and I both know I’m gonna win this round.”

Buck huffs out a laugh and catches Eddie’s hand on the gearshift to intertwine their fingers together, the smile not leaving his face.

“Shut up and drive us home, Diaz.”

“Alright.” Eddie answers, pressing another kiss to Buck’s knuckles. “Let's get you home, Evan.”

#9-1-1 #911 #buddie fic #buddie #buck x eddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley

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wrenhyperfixates · 4 years

Text

Love Poison

Pairing: Loki x reader Summary: You plan to take extreme measures to catch Loki’s eye. Unfortunately, things backfire terribly. Can something good come of the mess? Warnings: use of a love potion (putting this here because in case that bothers some people) but I think that’s it A/N: For @tom-hlover. Thanks for requesting and hope you enjoy!

Tag List: @lucywrites02 @frostedgiant @lunarmoon8 @twhiddlestonsstuff @lokistan @thelokiimaginechroniclesficrecs

Disclaimer: Picture not mine

You glanced out the window of Tony’s lab. In the week since you’d been promoted to his personal assistant, you’d seen more of the Avengers than you had in your almost five years of working at the Tower. In fact, you’d seen all but the one you’d really been hoping to. Loki. You had a little crush on the god, you would admit, but you had no hope of getting to know him if he never stopped by the lab. You considered asking your boss about him, but decided that the embarrassment wasn’t worth the risk. So, instead, you kept on waiting.

Your lucky break came one day when Tony sent you to the kitchen to get him some coffee. A large part of you wanted to suggest sleep instead, since he’d pretty obviously been up since you’d left the Tower last night. But you were still too new to the job to be so bold. You were in the middle of pouring Tony’s drink when a certain raven haired god came rushing in, snickering to himself. He stopped in his tracks when he noticed you.

“Who are you?” he asked sharply, as if he had been caught in the middle of something. Judging by the box of glowing vials he had with him, you supposed he might be. “How did you get in here?”

“Oh! I, uh, I work for Tony. I’m his new lab assistant,” you responded shyly, telling him your name.

“Ah, I see. A pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am Loki of Asgard. That doesn’t happen to be Stark’s drink in your hands, does it?”

“Actually, yeah, it is. May I ask why?”

Loki peered over his shoulder before turning back to you, a mischievous glint in his eye. You were almost certain your heart would beat out of your chest if you stayed in this close proximity to him any longer, but he finally began to explain himself.

“I was hoping to slip a potion into it. I had been planning on just dumping it into the coffee pot, but it would much easier if you could help me sneak it into the cup. Do not worry, I will not let you get into trouble. I will gladly take full blame. And, before you ask, it is completely safe.”

You contemplated for a minute trying to choose between your new job and Loki. The choice was pretty obvious, though, as you always tended to think more with your heart than your head. Maybe this could even spark a friendship between you and the god.

“Ok,” you nodded. “What’s it going to do?”

“It will make him burst out into uncontrollable laughter,” Loki explained as he set a few vials on the island, looking for the right one. “A harmless prank, really, but all I can get away with these days.”

A few moments later he was saying goodbye and hurrying off to enact his next prank. So much for that friendship you were hoping would bloom. Except, he’d left a potion behind. Maybe you could return it to him, and at least get another conversation out of it. But then you looked at the label and got another plan entirely. It was a love potion.

Ten minutes later you were staring at the bottle of glowing purple-pink liquid. Tony had run out to yell at Loki, knowing immediately who had been responsible for his sudden laughter. There were blueprints to be working on, you knew, but you’d had an idea, and it was proving nearly impossible to get it out of your mind. If you could just see Loki again, find him again, you could give him a drink with the potion in it. Not a lot, just a drop. Just nudge him into having feelings for you. Then once he got to know you, maybe the potion would have worked its way out of his system and his feelings would be real.

Almost without knowing what you were doing, you were pouring some of the contents in a cup of water. You poured yourself a cup of water, too, suddenly feeling very anxious. Was this right? You hadn’t technically stolen it or anything. But deep down, you knew that wasn’t the issue. This was crazy. It was manipulative. Everything about your relationship will have started out as a lie. Maybe you just needed another sip of water to calm down.

“Shit,” you whispered to yourself as you realized you’d drunk out of the wrong cup. Your mind went into full panic mode before focusing solely on Loki.

You skipped through the halls of the Tower, looking for your otherworldly prince. He said your name in a question as he almost collided into you. Immediately he knew something was off, he just couldn’t quite put his finger on it. It would bug him until he could.

“Did Stark send you after me?” he questioned. “I do not suppose you would be willing to help me out a second time?”

“Tony didn’t send me,” you brazenly replied. “I’m here to ask you on a date, Loki.”

“And why,” he said in a sharp laugh of disbelief, “would you do that?”

“Because I’m in love with you.”

His eyebrows shot halfway up his face. Not only was that an outrageous thing to say because you hardly knew each other, it was unbelievable because he was, well, him. Plus, you seemed a lot more bold than you had earlier. He almost didn’t believe it was the same person. Maybe you had a twin running around. Or maybe it was drugs. But no. He’d seen the effect drugs had on Midgardians before, and this was different. Still, he could not figure it out.

“That is lovely, but-”

“He would love to!” Thor cut his brother off as he appeared from around the corner. “How about you get some coffee? You like coffee, right brother?”

“No.”

“It’s perfect considering how we met,” you giggled as Loki grimaced. “I know a place that has coffee and tea, if you like that better.”

Loki desperately wanted to decline, but it was the last thing he needed for his image. Besides, he was pretty sure Thor would drag him there even if he said no.

“Very well. I shall meet you in the lobby at seven.”

“See you later, Loki,” you giggled as you waved goodbye, leaving to go doodle his name in your notebook.

“Well, well, brother,” Thor said. “I had no idea you had finally realized what an eligible bachelor you are. Good for you, putting yourself out there.”

“I suppose you were not at the same conversation I was,” Loki said wryly. “You put me out there. I was about to say no.”

“Come now, it will be good for you. Why do you seem so dismayed?”

“It does not make sense that they like me. No, they said love, actually. For one, I hardly know them. For two, I am me, don’t forget. Harbinger of destruction in the Battle of New York. Something is not adding up.”

“Just enjoy this, brother. Someone has realized how wonderful you are and asked you out. It is just how things work on Midgard.”

“Perhaps,” Loki mused, wracking his brain. “But I must do some research. There may be magic involved.”

“You know what,” his brother sighed, “I am going to help you just to prove this is real.”

“If you must.”

The search proved fruitless, but Loki was determined to comb through more of his enchantment books later. Right now, however, he had to meet you. For a date. The whole thing still sounded absolutely absurd. Though, he would admit you did look rather adorable bundled in your coat, ready to go out in the cold night air. Being the gentleman that he was, he offered you his arm, which you excitedly took as you giggled. That was another thing, why were you suddenly so bubbly? It was a far cry from the shy, easily flustered person he’d met earlier. He added it to his mental list of possible symptoms of whatever was afflicting you.

About an hour later, the two of you were still seated in the small café you’d brought him to. Loki was, surprisingly, enjoying himself. He had to keep reminding himself that this was not real, that he shouldn’t get too attached, for he was sure he’d figure this out sooner or later.

“Really?” you laughed as he finished his story.

“Yes, the entire chair just gave out from under him,” he recalled, telling you of one of the many times he’d pranked Thor in their youth. “After all, he’d just said to stop gluing him to it. Everything else was fair game. The best part was father never could prove I was behind it.”

“I wish I was clever like that. Or could do magic.”

“Well, I’ve never heard of a Midgardian working seiðr before, but I suppose nothing is impossible. I fear I may not be the best teacher, though. I lack the patience a good teacher should possess.”

“You seem plenty patient to me. Loki, you’re...” you said, nervously casting your eyes down to the floor, “well, you’re amazing.”

He blushed at your words, but accepted them with a small thank you. You’d calmed down considerably throughout the course of the evening, now seemingly fully captivated in your conversation with Loki. And he even found himself thinking that he didn’t mind your company, a rare thing indeed. Maybe Thor was right after all. Maybe this was real. As much as he wanted to believe that, deep down, he still knew something was very, very wrong.

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

Loki took you out again a week later. After a dinner out in the city, he had nervously brought you back to the Tower for a movie on his couch. It had been Thor’s idea, though he seemed to have been hinting at something else by suggesting Loki bring you back to his quarters. But, thankfully, you didn’t seem particularly interested in any of those things. Rather, you were content to just sit with Loki and let the movie play. You were curled into his side, cuddling him. It took someone actually wanting to be near to him to make him realize how touch starved he actually was. It alarmed him at first, to have you so close, but he relaxed as you began methodically braiding and unbraiding a few locks of his hair. A small smile played at his lips as he thought of the domestic simplicity of it.

“Hey, Loki,” you said. “I’m really glad I met you.”

“I am too. And to think, it all started with a simple prank.”

Loki suddenly stood up from the couch, accidentally pushing you off him. He apologized as he rushed over to his bookcase. Remembering how you’d first met had made him think of something; he’d been searching for an enchantment, but he’d never considered it being the effect of a potion. Reading the page in the book, he realized you were exhibiting all the symptoms. He sighed and checked his potion box, hoping against hope that he would find nothing missing. Unfortunately, he did.

He’d packed up his things so quickly that he must have left one behind and, one way or another, you’d consumed it. And of course it had to be that one of all the options. It was more love poison than love potion, he thought to himself as he scoffed. He sat down and plopped onto the couch, burying his head in his hands.

“Loki?” you hesitantly asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, my darling, I am so sorry. It is all my fault,” he apologized, taking your hands as confusion sparked behind your eyes. “It may take a little time, but I will fix this. For now, you should go home.”

“But, Loki,” you sniffled. “I don’t want to. What’s happening? Can I see you tomorrow?”

He hesitated. He really shouldn’t let this continue, for both your sakes. “I... Yes, I will you see you tomorrow. Do not worry about what is going on, I will take care of it.”

You sniffled some more, but acquiesced. After placing a kiss to his cheek, you set off towards your flat, leaving the unfinished movie playing in the background. Loki immediately started preparing the antidote. It would take nearly a week to fully brew, and he tried to figure out what to do with you in the meantime. He feared that if he kept seeing you, you would hate him when you came to. But, if he rejected you now, you might become violent and unpredictable. Better to keep you safe. And, if he was lucky for once in his life, maybe he could have a chance with you once you were in your right mind.

As soon as the antidote finished, Loki prepared to give it to you. He’d found the bottle of love potion hidden in Tony’s lab and concluded you couldn’t have used more than a few drops. He even dared hope for a second that you hadn’t used it, after all, but then he noticed the seal had been broken. The small dosage must have been the reason he didn’t recognize the side effects as belonging to it right away. The larger the dosage, the more intense the effects.

“Hi Loki,” you greeted as he opened the door for you.

“Hello, darling.”

“Is something wrong?” you asked, cupping his cheek. “You seem upset.”

“I am fine. May I interest you in a glass of water? Tea? Anything to drink, really.”

“Oh! I guess water sounds good. Thanks,” you smiled.

He handed you the cup and waited while you took a sip. The effects were almost instantaneous, filling him with both joy and sadness at the same time. You gazed around the room with a dazed look on your face. Loki helped you to a chair as you regained your senses.

“Oh my gosh,” you gasped. “Loki, I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry for what, darling? I am the one who left the potion lying around.”

“Yes, but,” you started, wondering how much you could get away with. You decided it was just best to come clean. “I should have returned it as soon as I saw it. Not... not try to give it to you. Serves me right that I accidentally took it myself.”

“You were trying to give it to me?” Loki inquired with furrowed brows. “What would you do a thing like that for?”

“Because,” you gulped, “I really do have a crush on you, Loki. I was desperate, I guess. But that’s no excuse, so yeah, I’m sorry. I should go now.”

“Wait,” he called after you before you could run off. You were rather charming, he thought. And he did believe that he got to know a bit of the real you through the potion. Besides, maybe Thor was right, and it was time he put himself out there. “I know we did not start under the best circumstances, but I would like to take you on a real date if you will allow it. Say, tonight?”

“Really?” you squeaked in disbelief. “I would love to, Loki.”

“Just do me one favor, darling. Stay away from potions, please.”

“Believe me,” you nervously laughed, “I plan on it.”

You scurried away to text your friends about the crazy turn of events. Loki smiled after you before destroying the rest of the love potion, happy that some good was able to come out of the whole mess. But there was one thing he knew for certain; he’d be swearing off potion making for quite some time.

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system76 · 3 years

Text

Thelio Massive at the Lab: An interview with Luca Della Santina

Every now and then we like to check in on our customers to find out about what coolness they’re up to. This week, we sat down with Luca Della Santina, an assistant professor at UCSF in the Department of Ophthalmology, to see what he and his Thelio Massives are discovering at the lab.

What kind of work goes on in the Department of Ophthalmology?

Everything we do is focused on the eye and on vision. I am also part of the Bakar Institute, which is a computational institute specializing in machine learning and deep learning applied to health sciences. The lab that I run is divided between working on computational approaches, mainly image analysis.

What projects are you working on right now?

One major current project is detecting an infection of the eye called trachoma. Trachoma is an infection that affects the inside of the eyelid. It usually occurs in countries below the tropics, and it’s a major cause of blindness for people across the world—except for in wealthy countries like the US where it’s very rare. Eliminating it elsewhere is a major goal of the World Health Organization. Africa, South America, Asia and Oceania still have many cases, so we’re taking photographs of the afflicted eyelid to look at the sites where bacteria has infected the eye. Then we use deep learning to detect it automatically to help public health experts decide which communities will require antibiotic treatment.

We’re also taking images of neurons in the eyes and map the connection between them, called synapses, to study how degenerative diseases of the eye such as glaucoma can alter the wires between neurons. Knowing which neurons are the most susceptible to disease will shine a light on new and more sensitive tests to catch these blinding diseases before they can actually cause major vision loss. This type of research generates really large data sets, in which each image is large many gigabytes and for which the analysis is very computationally intensive, both for the GPU and the CPU.

How long have you been using System76 workstations for your projects?

We started to use System76 systems two years ago, give or take. It was part of setting up my computational lab. One of the goals was to have a completely open a stack, and your workstations were an integral part of this strategy.

What is the computational stack you’re using?

We have the Thelio Massives configured for deep learning and for processing large image data. One of the systems has NVIDIA Quadro RTX 8000 GPUs for training larger models than we usually do. In the other system, we have it configured with dual CPUs and dual NVIDIA GeForce RTX 2080 Tis. The reason for that is that some of the computational work is being developed with parallel computing, both on GPUs and CPUs. The more cores and the more CPUs we get this on, the better.

How do you balance workloads between the CPUs and GPUs?

Strictly for the projects I’m on, they’re each about as important. All of the machine learning runs off the GPU right now, but all of the basic image analysis and parallel computing actually works off the CPU. The reason for the latter is there’s no significant advantage to push that work onto a GPU. There are a few algorithms that we cannot parallelize on the GPU because of the way they are designed, and one of these is actually pretty fundamental in the way we segment images, so if we put it on the GPU there is not much increase in speed because we cannot push it onto every core of the GPU. For most of it, we need the raw power of the CPU.

What were the determining factors when you decided to go with System76 and our Thelio Massives?

A few things. We wanted a system that was designed to run Linux from its foundations. There are not a lot of systems like yours, so that was a major factor in our choice. We also wanted a system that we could expand easily in the future, and we found out that the Thelio Massive has has great expandability.

The most important factor for me was being able to double or triple the RAM somewhere down the line, and maybe have another couple of GPUs in the system. Having storage options is useful for us because we may generate a dataset and on a single 4TB hard drive, so the ability to just pop out and pop in hard drives is very easy. It’s actually huge for us. I ended up buying a bunch of 5TB drives and just packed them in. Most of the small stuff we just run off of the NVMe drive, and that’s much better than the rest of the storage we have.

I really enjoy how quiet these machines are! I can testify that we’re sharing the same room with another computer from a different vendor with similar components, and it’s about 10 times louder than the Thelio Massives.

What operating system do you use?

So far we’ve been keeping both Thelio Massives on Pop!_OS. The other workstation we have in the lab is either Ubuntu or Windows.

How has Pop!_OS been for you?

The software pipeline we use runs out of the box pretty well on Pop!_OS, so that’s not been an issue so far. I appreciate that you guys have full disk encryption out of the box.

We’ve also heard you’re thinking about buying a Lemur Pro. What made you consider that machine?

I need something that’s light that I can bring around with me. It’s also got a good number of ports, which lately has been hard to find on a laptop, which frees me up from having to carry dongles on my trips. I can also configure it up to 40GB of RAM, and I need at least 32GB, so that’s perfect for me.

Would you like to share how System76 has improved workflow for you and your organization? Contact [email protected] to set up an interview!

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callboxkat · 3 years

Text

Those Long, Lonely Nights (part 1/6)

Author’s note: This is a retelling of the story These Deep Dark Woods, but from Roman’s perspective, plus a few new scenes. I recommend reading that story first, but this can also stand alone. Please read the warnings!

Summary: Roman, a knight, insists on accompanying his best friend Logan, a potion maker, when he decides to head into the notoriously dangerous woods bordering their home to find some rare herbs and minerals for his apothecary. They find much more than they bargained for when they encounter Remus, a bloodthirsty giant. Logince. Angst with a happy ending.

Warnings: food mention, blood, injuries, death mention, killing mention, gun mention, mild body horror (it’s Remus), disturbing imagery (it’s Remus), character death, temporary/believed character death, kidnapping, guilt, attempted self sacrifice, talk of giants, vampires and other monsters. Very unsympathetic villain Remus.

Word Count: 1764

Part 2

Ao3 Link

Writing Masterpost!

...

Roman bounded down the bustling street, waving to familiar passerby as he went. He knew he was easy to pick out and very recognizable, in his white knight’s uniform. Despite the early morning, many people were already up and about, setting up for the day, but the street lamps still glowed—a recent installation, they actually ran on electricity! Roman still didn’t quite understand how that worked, but he was proud to see his settlement prospering, and it was fascinating, how much light came from them, just from a few little wires and some glass. Perhaps there was some sort of enchantment involved.

“Good morning, Sir Roman,” a shopkeeper called.

Roman tabled his nerdy thoughts for the time being. He put on a bright smile and approached the shop, where a woman stood sweeping clear the welcome mat. “Good morning to you, Maryanne!”

The woman put aside the broom and dusted her hands off on her apron. “Would you like a pastry? The peaches just arrived from Mellow Valley, and they are simply delightful in a fruit tart.”

Roman hummed consideringly. “Oh, that’s very tempting, but I’m afraid I’m in a rush this morning!”

“Some other time, then. Perhaps you could even bring that handsome young man you’re always with.” She winked.

Roman really hoped he wasn’t blushing. “Of course—you know I love your treats.”

Roman was on his way to his shift guarding the outer wall, an imposing structure built of shining gray stone that protected the citizens of his home from the monsters that roamed the forest beyond. It was an important job, entrusted to the expertise of the knights, and one that Roman loved doing; but it wasn’t always the most exciting prospect. Their settlement, Old Haven, was one of the longest standing, enough so that most of the monsters had known since generations past to stay well away; and between the few times that things truly got exciting... they could be terribly dull.

But, before Roman went to his shift that morning, he had a stop to make, and this he was definitely looking forward to.

The apothecary was located just a couple of blocks from the main square, in a small, warmly colored cedar and stone building with windows filled with neatly arranged bundles of colorful herbs and evenly spaced rows of bottles of medicinal powders and potions. A hand-painted sign read, Please come in, in neat, white letters, in an only slightly decorative script.

Roman reached the shop just as the door opened, the bell overhead chiming. A customer stepped out, dressed in a dark robe with the hood up. At first glance, he seemed to be clothed entirely in black, but on closer inspection, his robe was actually a deep plum color. He clutched a bottle of pomegranate juice in one pale hand and a neatly sealed packet of herbs in the other. Dark bangs poked out from under the hood, but his face was cast in shadow. Roman frowned slightly noticing the dark, grayish veins in his hands as he stepped back to give the man room. He hurried past Roman and disappeared down the street. Roman stepped inside the apothecary once he was gone.

The apothecarist, Logan, stood behind a counter within the shop, wearing an elegant, navy colored coat and his usual pair of spectacles. He was pushing together a pile of coins on the counter. Copper and bronze coins only, Roman noticed. No silver.

“Got a lot of vampire clientele?” Roman asked, leaning (or perhaps posing) against one of the display cabinets.

Logan looked up, the warm lamplight making his deep blue irises glitter in a way that never failed to make Roman’s heart skip a beat. He glanced back down and finished tucking away the money. “Six,” he said honestly. “Seven, most likely, although she has not personally shared that information with me, and if she is, hers appears to be a mild case.”

“Hm.”

“You don’t approve?”

“Ah… they’re a little too similar to monsters, for my taste.”

“It is a monster-derived affliction, that is true, but with modern treatments, most of those afflicted with vampirism can lead nearly normal lives.”

Roman shrugged dismissingly, waving him off. He hadn’t come here to talk about vampires. “I know, I know. Anyway. How’s my favorite nerd this morning?”

“I wish you wouldn’t call me that,” Logan sighed.

“You know you love it.”

Logan did not deny it, Roman noticed with a small smile. Instead, he adjusted a few already perfectly positioned potion bottles on the counter, before saying, “I am well, although rather busy.”

Roman glanced around the room, noticeably empty of customers. “Ah yes, this is a very busy time for your shop, I see.”

“A customer did depart only moments ago,” Logan pointed out. “Although, no, I was not referring to customers. I’m preparing for an outing.”

“An outing?” Roman was interested, now. “Finally taking a little vacation, are you? Good on you. Where are you going? And more importantly—can I come?”

Logan wanted to smile, Roman could tell. But he didn’t. The guy took himself too seriously. “Not that type of outing. I require materials to restock my shop.”

Roman sighed dramatically, making it a full body motion. So much for a vacation. And the hot springs in the hills of northern Old Haven were so nice this time of year. “So? Just put it on the list for the traders. Mellow Valley should have most of your things in season by now. Did you hear the peaches arrived? Maryanne, that baker on Lilac, promised me some of her delightful pastries. We could go get some, when I’m finished with my shift on the South Wall this morning.”

Logan shook his head “Mellow Valley won’t have everything I need; and besides, the costs are considerably lessened when the materials are personally collected.”

Roman furrowed his brow. “Collected where?”

“Outside.”

“You mean outside, like, as in the park, right?”

“In the woods,” Logan sighed, beginning to sound exasperated.

Roman opened his mouth, then closed it again. The woods. The veritable ocean of dense trees beyond the settlement’s walls, filled to the brim with monsters, held back from advancing only by the strength of the guard and broken only by the occasional human stronghold and the heavily protected trails that linked them. Generally, only knights and the traders they accompanied ever ventured beyond the walls—this was, in fact, why Roman had become a knight in the first place, to get to see some of the world that most only saw through pictures and stories. Citizens were allowed to leave—they weren’t prisoners—but it was very rare, and highly discouraged. Many who went unprepared—or even those who did—never returned; and sometimes even those who did return were not the same as when they left—like the vampires who apparently frequented this shop, or at least one or more of their ancestors. Vampirism could be tricky like that. Sometimes it cropped up randomly, somewhere down the line.

Logan had begun sorting through some of his supplies, acting for all the world as if he hadn’t just announced he had a death wish.

Roman shook off his distracted thoughts of vampirism and knightly missions, and focused on the most important thing: “Please tell me you aren’t planning to go out there alone.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Logan sighed. “I will have my dagger, and I will go no further into the woods than required.”

“Oookay, first of all, why am I just now hearing that you’ve been hanging out in the monster-filled woods by yourself?”

“I would hardly call it ‘hanging out’.”

“And second of all, you are absolutely not doing that.”

Logan gave him a dry look. “Yes, I am. My herbs will not pick themselves.”

“Get a garden like a normal person.”

“You know I have a quite extensive garden.” Logan paused, looked confused. He shook his head, going back to counting bundles of tiny black seeds. “Some of these herbs do not naturally grow within human settlements, let alone ours, and my attempts to recreate their preferred environment have in many cases proven thus far unsuccessful. Besides, I cannot ‘get a garden’ to form mineral deposits, several of which are required in even non-specialty potions.”

Roman still didn’t quite see why Logan wouldn’t be able to get all of this stuff using a trader. Knowing Logan, it was less about the money and more about needing to personally ensure that he received the correct materials. Surely, though, even the least-versed in medicinal resources could get him what he needed, if he described them well enough.

Also knowing Logan, though, he would not be dissuaded from going.

Roman pulled himself up to his full height, puffing out his chest and putting one hand on the protective-charm engraved hilt of his sword. “Alright, then, I am coming with you.”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “You’re coming to collect herbs? Can you even tell wormwood from hemlock?”

“I’m not going to find your nerd plants, I’m going to protect you.”

Logan scoffed quietly, clearly believing Roman’s very generous and heroic offer was unnecessary. But he sat down on his stool, finally, and looked at Roman without busying himself with his apothecarist duties. He glanced Roman up and down, apparently trying to decide how serious Roman was. “Alright, then, if you insist.”

“I do!” Roman nodded firmly. He relaxed his posture. “So, when are we going?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yes?”

“I—” Roman groaned, looking up towards the wooden beams of the ceiling. “Fine. It’s a little short notice, but fine.” He worked his jaw, then mumbled, “I’ll need to cancel a couple days… maybe Sir Leo can cover? Hm.”

Logan tilted his head slightly, adjusting his spectacles and watching Roman’s dramatics. “I am not forcing you to come.”

You are, though. “Well, I am.”

“Alright.”

A beat passed in silence, Roman feeling triumphant, before Logan gave the knight a slightly amused look. “I thought you had a shift on the wall?”

“I—right. Yes.” Roman had gotten a little distracted. He took a couple of steps back. “So, you, me, tomorrow, woods. Great.” He turned towards the door, stopped, and turned around. “About those pastries?”

Logan hummed. “I can take a break two hours after noon, which is when your shift ends, if I remember correctly. I suppose I would accept one then.”

“They have fruit in them,” Roman encouraged. “That makes them healthy!”

“I do not believe that is entirely correct.”

Roman grinned and left the shop.

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chrysalispen · 3 years

Text

a dream in flight (cid/wol)

for @smitten-miqitten. thank you so much <3 i hope you enjoy!

AO3 HERE

fic under the cut, as always.

===

The morning was a rare one, having dawned clear and cloudless - albeit every ilm as cold and bracing as the one that preceded it. The overbright sparkle of a sun with no warmth bit as strongly as any blizzard, but the crystal and stained glass windows of the great cathedral seemed to filter the merciless glare of eternal winter into something gentle and cheerful.

Although a bone-deep chill lingered without the doors as ever, it was stiflingly warm in the nave. Folk large and small had gathered beneath the roof of Saint Reymanaud’s, brought together by the common threads that bound them to the Warrior of Light -- she who had ended the Dragonsong War alongside Ishgard’s greatest knights and heroes. The union was an occasion to celebrate as much as any feast-day, and to that end all present had turned out in their finest: city-state leaders in ceremonial dress, various personages of the High Houses using the occasion as an opportunity to display themselves and their sons and daughters to advantage, Brume folk in their best attire.

Cid Garlond had long since grown weary of observing the still-gathering crowd and now contented himself with staring through a small pane of glass into the body of the sanctuary. Light streamed through the massive arches like golden prayer-ribbons, weaving their way along marble walls and ancient buttresses. The floral wreaths that bookended the hefty spruce pews were a donation from the Gridanian Botanists’ Guild, sprays of color and scent and life (some alterations had been made; he doubted the artichoke flowers lining the steps to the altar dais had been Era’s notion, or Fufucha’s for that matter).

“Hells, you even let them deck the pews,” the sardonic drawl echoed slightly from old stones. “I suppose you really are serious about this.”

That was a voice he knew, and normally one that was wont to cause his hackles to rise- but in this instance the unsettled flutter in his gut left him more inclined to look favorably upon its owner, if for naught else other than long familiarity.

He let his shoulders roll back as he glanced up at the taller Garlean out of the corner of his eyes, then shook his head. “I’m not sure what gave you the impression I would do anything like this on a lark. Goodness knows there were other venues. More discreet, at the very least.”

“Well, I daresay there’s still some time before the festivities commence.” Nero Scaeva’s shameless grin was all teeth and no small amount of mirth; Cid thought to himself with a sort of sour amusement that his colleague and erstwhile rival was quite enjoying his predicament. “You could always abscond with your lady as soon as she arrives. Make for the Dravanian hills. Biggs and Wedge would cover your escape, no doubt.”

“While you simply sit back and watch, I suppose? Or would you help them?”

Nero offered only a lazy shrug of his shoulders, a lift and a drop and spread hands.

“Perhaps, Garlond. Perhaps. I find myself feeling oddly magnanimous this morning, as it happens.”

“Well, I’m afraid you’ll have to curtail these passing generous impulses of yours, Nero.” Cid’s lips tilted in a wry half-smile of his own. “I suspect Era would be cross if I let you assault the guests.”

“Spoilsport,” he said. Cid scoffed, though it was without rancor. “In that case, I suppose you are determined to endure, come what may. Stand still, your collar’s gone askew.”

As the other man cast a critical eye on his neckwear Cid fought not to fidget in place. His eyes strayed frequently to the doors of the cathedral, and in the back of his mind he could feel Marques fluttering about like a trapped bird buffeting its wings against an invisible cage. Strange, how the most significant sennight of his life had begun much like any other, and even stranger that he felt so anxious, knowing how long he had felt ready for this very day. He supposed it was public speaking jitters- there were quite a lot of people here, after all: many of them faces he knew as well as Era did.

But then, he told himself, that was the point, wasn’t it? The other ceremony - the real ceremony, as far as Cid was concerned - was somewhere else. This was a sort of… test run, one might say.

Just a test run, he repeated to himself, and he couldn’t say why it was that which served to ground him, but it did. Some of the tension in his muscles seemed to flow out of his limbs, like icemelt into a mountain stream. It hadn’t entirely fled him, and he was sure the second the doors opened and all eyes were upon him it would return. But the fluttering in his head had subsided, and that was what mattered.

He exhaled softly as Nero stepped back to give him space. A frown knitted the other Garlean’s brow: an emotion that looked almost like concern.

“Jests aside, you’re looking a bit pale, old friend. Are you quite sure you’ve not changed your mind?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. I’ll be fine,” Cid assured him. He glanced towards the entrance to the vestibule. “Once she’s arrived, I’ll be better than fine.”

He didn’t have to wait very long. Three turns about the space later there was a flurry of activity at the doors and a vision in white stepped across the threshold, the long and lacy train of her dress draping the floor at her back like spun frost.

Era looked as stunning as she always did to his eyes, of course, regardless of what she wore. But as lovely and intricate as it was, Cid took little more than cursory notice of her dress. His attention caught itself upon other, smaller details: the shine of her eyes - just slightly too bright - and the tight curve of her smile, and the white-knuckled way she clutched the bouquet of white lilies in her hands. She was as outwardly composed as ever but he knew her tells well enough by now to see that in truth, she was no less unsettled about the prospect of a very public display than Cid himself.

So, he thought, it appears I won’t be alone in this either.

He nudged his companion in the ribs with one elbow. “You see?” he said. “Better than fine.”

“Well then, Garlond, let me be the first to offer my congratulations-”

“Jumping the gun rather, aren’t you? The ceremony hasn’t started yet.”

“-upon your miraculous recovery from stage fright,” the engineer finished. His lips tilted in something that was either a sneer or a smirk, and knowing Nero as he did, it could well have been both. “As amusing as it is to entertain the notion of watching you faint away upon your approach to the altar like some dewy-eyed Coerthan virgin afflicted with the vapors, I suspect the timely arrival of your fellow aspirant to matrimony has just saved me a good deal of trouble.”

“You would actually give up the opportunity to watch me embarrass myself in front of what must be half the realm sitting in those pews? Seven hells, Nero, you are getting soft.”

A derisive snort. “Spoken as if your lovely and more than somewhat terrifying bride wouldn’t simply pluck you from the floor and princess-carry you to the altar herself should it come to that. He'll not escape you that easily, eh, Era?”

The neutral set of her soft lips barely twitched, but the flash of good humor in her eyes was all the answer Cid needed. Her smile took a genuine turn at last - a soft and slight thing that would have been imperceptible to anyone else - and the cloud-like softness of her tail twitched, nearly hidden in the layers of snowy lace and satin. At the same moment, he watched the tilt of her shoulders relax. Just the barest hint, really, but he suspected it to be a reflection of his own selfsame thought process.

“He'll be fine, and so will I,” she said at last. She was responding to Nero but her eyes, luminous and wide, were fixed upon Cid's. "We go together."

“Right. Well. Upon that note, I believe I’ll be finding my seat. Away from the aisles, if it please you,” the tall blond shrugged, making a show of turning his back as he strode towards the exit to the sanctuary. “Do make an attempt to remain vertical for the duration, Garlond.”

Cid managed to suppress a mirthful grin of his own until Nero had quit their presence before turning it upon a lily and lace-bedecked Era.

“He suggested we take the opportunity to elope, but I think that would be a touch impolite- tempting as it might be.”

“Besides which, everyone is already here and waiting,” she said. “It would be a bit rude to elope now. We might as well get on with it.”

He laughed and it would have gone unnoticed were she not looking at him; the sound was swallowed in the ringing swell of a tolling cathedral bell. The sound crashed against stone like an invisible wave, once, twice: the final call for their gathering to take seats.

Era’s ears swiveled forward at the sudden sound before relaxing back into the wreath of flowers woven into her hair, and lifted one hand midair while juggling her bouquet into her right. He tucked her elbow about his much girthier forearm so that her hand rested just above the back of his wrist. The small ring she wore caught the light with a tiny, delicate sparkle -- a mote of light with a deep blue center.

“I suppose that’s our cue. You will catch me if I fall, won’t you, love?”

“Always. Even if I tear my dress doing it.” Smile steady, her soft eyes flickered towards the nave entrance. The slight weight of her hand resting upon his was warm and secure, a silent comfort. “Shall we?”

Cid took the hint for what it was.

“Let’s,” he said, and reached for the heavy wooden doors.

~*~

“Era? Sweetheart?”

By ilms the ache began to subside and with it, the Echo vision faded and passed. Her fingertips fell away from the spot where they had lain pressed to her temple.

The sight that awaited her when she opened her eyes was of quite a different venue indeed: no massive flying buttresses or walls of cold and heavy granite to be found here. The tiny chapel of Saint Adama Landama sat on a high point as did the Holy See’s grand cathedral, but that was where the similarities between the two locations ended. The view afforded here was not that of majestic snow-capped mountains, but a small and dusty lichyard. Beyond the box canyon that housed the old Sunroad waystation of Camp Drybone lay malms of flat scrublands and shallow watering holes, populated only by tuco-tucos and herds of wild aldgoats that had taken advantage of cooler hours to graze and water.

At last the day had dawned upon what she considered the real ceremony.

Today she would in truth marry the man she had loved for so long, in this place which meant so much to the both of them. Of course she had wanted their friends to share in their happiness, and Cid had in turn agreed for her sake. But here, the difference was as stark as night and day. Looking upon the well-worn pews strewn with laurel and desert saffron, the anxiety that had so plagued her in the great cathedral was… well, not what she could call ‘nonexistent,’ not exactly, but there was far more of excitement in it than aught else.

How long had it been, in truth, since they had met? The first time it had been wholly incidental. They had been little more than ships passing in the night -- albeit those ships were ghost-ships, left unanchored and unmoored and empty to drift slow and wide upon deep currents. Newly recruited to the Scions and looking for information, she had instead found him, half-concealed in a solitary corner of the lichyard draped in his borrowed robes and weeding an aged plot. He had been too shy to even look her full in the face while he stammered out a frightened response to her question.

Then, he had only known himself as Marques. Sometimes she wondered about the part of him that they both knew was still Marques, looking upon the world as it was now: the world that Cid Garlond had helped to shape. Be it for weal or woe.

She had forgotten for a moment that he was still watching her. When she glanced at him after the sound of his clearing throat caught her attention she saw his brow knotted with concern, eyes cast in brief shadow.

“Era, is aught amiss?”

“Hmm? No, I’m fine.” Era punctuated her words with a faint smile, hoping it would reassure him. The small bouquet of baby’s breath she clutched in one hand was warm, the simple ribbon that bound it ever so slightly damp where moisture from her palm had started to sink into the fibers. “I was just thinking about the day we met.”

“Mmm.” The furrowed crease that had extended nearly down to the bridge of his nose relaxed. “Good old Marques. I’ll wager he never would have dreamed of a day like this.”

(Sometimes she wondered if he wished he could still be Marques. She would hardly blame him.)

“On a day like this, where would he have been?” she wanted to know.

“Well away from the churchyard.” Cid reached for her, his broad, rough mechanic’s fingers lacing through hers. It was already hot and his hand was as warm as hers, but it was a gentle warmth- one that enfolded her hand much like his steadfast presence had enfolded her heart. His grin seemed to stretch from ear to ear. “Tending some of those newer plots on the high road, methinks.”

Before she could think about it she had voiced the question.

“You don’t miss it overmuch, do you?”

“What? Being ‘Marques’?” At her nod, that grin turned somewhat wry. “Aye, well... were I to be completely honest, I think I do miss that daft old bugger on occasion. He was a tabula rasa, after all, and that sort of existence does have a certain appeal. Fewer responsibilities, for one.”

“But?” Era squeezed his hand, and his focus caught upon their laced fingers.

“But all other matters aside, I know full well what I would have missed. There are times… well, I have my bad days, and sometimes being Cid Garlond feels a terrible beast of a burden. I’ll not deny it. But days like this? I can’t say I would wish to be anyone else." He paused. "Or anywhere else, for that matter.”

Cid's eyes were the precise grey-blue of cornflower blossoms, as guileless and open to the sun as the Thanalan sky. She had always loved his eyes: windows which afforded her a glimpse into a soul that was both noble and incessantly kind, even in those early days when he had not known himself. The worry she had glimpsed was gone, passed across their surface and moved on like a cloud drifting away from the sun. It left them as lovely as ever, and brighter to her own loving gaze than any crystal would ever be.

Like a crystal, he reflected the light she bore in truth.

Her throat felt suddenly tight, as though there were a lump she couldn’t swallow past, and she blinked furiously to clear the uncomfortable burning sensation that pricked her eyes.

“Come now, darling,” Cid chided her with a soft laugh. “Save your tears for the ceremony, eh? The good Father’s waiting on us, and so are the crew.”

She almost held out through the entire ceremony. Almost.

Motes of dust billowed in the shafts of sunlight that slanted through the windows of the chapel - in truth, little more than a meeting-house - as if in benediction upon the small gathering. Small as it was, Era clutched her bouquet until her knuckles turned white as she tried to ignore the small handful of people in the pews. Her free hand, held in his- it all felt so seen, and fame or no, she had never liked to put herself on display.

Out of the corner of her eye she caught the movement of Cid’s lips, though there was no sound. She blinked at him, wondering if he had said something and she had merely missed it, until they moved again:

Relax. Look at me.

That message was unmistakable, followed as it was by a very slow and deliberate wink and the mischievous tilt of a half-smile. She felt her own lips stretch in response and her grip on his hand relaxed ever so slightly - and she caught his faint grimace and felt the flex of tendon and muscle, and realized she must have been squeezing his fingers more tightly than she had intended.

If old Father Iliud had noticed any of that silent exchange, he gave no outward sign, bless him. He merely looked from the bride to her groom, both in their modest attire, Era in her lace, then out upon the few witnesses sitting upon the weathered and somewhat rickety benches that passed for pews. The smile he bestowed upon them all was very much like the sunlight slanting through the dusty windows, gentle and ever-present.

“My dear friends,” he said, his voice quiet and warm and intimate, as if he addressed only the two of them in the comfort of a private parlor, “words cannot well express what a wonder it is, to see all of you who have gathered here today. To share in a day like this, to celebrate love, is to celebrate joy itself.

“We have all weathered many a storm these past five summers. Yet those who endure hardship and emerge wiser and kinder for the experience are the strongest of us- and the secret to their strength so very often lies in the company they keep on their journey.”

As she listened, she remembered.

There had been another time he had clasped her hand like this. The rift, beautiful chaos, an endless sea of stars and a cold to numb the very soul as they were cast adrift in the vast and unfolding eternity of interdimensional space: her only anchor the softness of chocobo down and the warmth of Cid’s hand, fingers intertwined and grasping like tapestry threads. Era had forgotten many things, some more important than others. It was a circumstance she had accepted long ago; for better or worse, a not-insignificant part of her time had been spent trying to assemble the disparate pieces of her life before and after the shipwreck.

But that she would hold in her heart until she cast away her mortal coil, for the memory of that warmth was also the moment Era had realized she was in love with him. It had been exhilarating and wonderful, that quiet awareness of something that had waited with such patience for her to see it, like the petals of a morning glory unfolding to bask in the full brilliance of the sun.

The company we keep--

Such a long and strange journey it had been, all of it. And Cid had been there with her from the first step.

“Era,” a voice murmured. “The rings.”

She’d been lost in so much reflection she had nearly missed her own ceremony, she thought with a sort of rueful embarrassment. Cheeks coloring slightly, she set the bouquet aside just in time for Iliud to take her emptied hand and fold her fingers into those of her groom.

Iliud stretched his other hand first towards Cid, his palm open and facing upward as the engineer reached for the bauble that lay in his hand and lifted Era’s hand with a reverent touch. They faced each other now; the pews were visible from the corner of her eye if she chose to perceive them, but she barely noticed. Her focus lay upon the delicate white gold ring and the tiny jewel settings, blue as his eyes, as he slid it onto her finger with painstaking care.

“Let this be my promise to you,” Cid murmured. He held her hand high, close to his mouth, and she could feel the damp warmth of each soft exhale as he bent over his work. “Be they clear skies or the darkest storms, I would navigate them all with you at my side.”

He lifted her fingers to his lips and kissed them, grave and earnest, a pilgrim paying homage.

“And Era.”

Thus prompted, she reached for the remaining band. It was a simple piece: the metal brushed and polished to a precise sheen, pleasing to the eye but sturdy enough to withstand much of its owner’s heavy manual labor. Her hands felt clammy with sweat. There was a sort of… no, lightheadedness wasn’t the right word. Giddy, she amended. Reality was asserting itself bit by bit, wondrous and overwhelming-- it wasn’t a fever dream or an Echo vision.

She could blink once, twice, a hundred times, and this day - the fact of her marriage - it would all still be real.

He held his own hand aloft, awaiting her next move in patient silence and an unwavering smile. Era’s fingers trembled slightly, albeit not from any particular apprehension, as she positioned the ring to slide into place. It caught on the wide point of his finger for the space of a heartbeat before moving downward once more.

The chapel seemed terribly hot, or perhaps that heat in her cheeks was self-consciousness-- Era had never been one for grandiose speeches or noble vows. Nevertheless, she bowed her head studiously over the much larger hand she cradled, his fingers curled with delicate care about hers, to seal her words with a kiss of her own.

“Let this be my promise to you,” her words echoed his, a statement bold and simple in equal measure. “No matter the adventure or the quest that leads my steps, you will always be at my side, in word and in deed. We go together.”

The ring shone with the reflected light of the afternoon sun, and she shut her eyes against it just long enough to brush her lips against roughened knuckles. She lowered his hand, still held securely in her own, to see her emotions mirrored in his face. He was still smiling, but his eyes were suspiciously bright and by the knowing tilt to his lips, Era rather suspected she was in the same state.

Iliud’s hands cast small shadows over theirs as he raised each palm to place upon the crowns of their hands, then their backs, in light and careful benediction. Just as Cid had received foreknowledge of this part of the ceremony so had she; her ears flickered back and then forward again in a small, tight swivel. Still, her fingers tightened their grip ever so briefly, and with silent determination she kept her gaze firmly set even as her vision went dim and she blinked furiously.

“What the fates have seen fit to join,” he intoned, “neither man nor nature may cast asunder. By those powers granted to me and the immeasurable privilege to preside over this union, I bid you take your first steps in life across the threshold of this holy house.”

Heedless in truth of the emotion between them - or mayhap perfectly aware of it - the old priest’s hands raised aloft as the pair turned at last to face the pews.

“Era and Cid Garlond, I pronounce you husband and wife, and alongside my fellow celebrants in your shared joy wish long life and happiness upon you both. May you go forth in peace-- and may the Twelve smile upon you now and forevermore.”

Her joyful laugh, thin and shaking and half-tearful, was muffled beneath her husband’s kiss. She tasted salt, but almost as soon as the impression was there it was gone and he was grinning at her, the Cid she knew and loved. Sunlight glittered in bright blue, the tears in them fading like a receding rainfall to be replaced once more with eternally fair skies.

“Let’s get out of here,” Cid whispered, taking her elbow in his. They took their first step down the aisle in tandem. “The airship’s waiting.”

“Airship? I thought we weren't-"

“Aye, you heard right. It's all been arranged. We’ve the whole of the next sennight to ourselves and an open sky ahead.” His wink was all boyish mischief, ceremonial solemnity fled in the wake of what Era saw now was suppressed excitement. “So you just tell me where to go, and I’ll take us there. Just like always, Missus Garlond.”

“But the Ironworks-”

“There’s no less than a dozen folk who have offered to take up projects in our stead,” he kissed her cheek, and she squirmed at the tickling scratch of his beard, “on both ends. This will be just the two of us.” “Not even Biggs and Wedge?”

“Not even Biggs and Wedge.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” she said, then: “...Oh dear. That... wasn’t quite how I meant that to sound.”

Unfazed, Cid tossed his head and laughed. His hair, that beautiful silver-streaked white-blond, shimmered like his wedding ring band in the filtered sunlight and with that single peal of sound she fancied she could nearly see his soul. He was happier than she had ever seen him, and it had made of itself something tangible and incandescent. Radiant.

And reflected light or not, she couldn’t help but find him the most beautiful man she had ever seen. My husband. She thought her way around those two words, testing them.

“I’m sure they’d understand,” he said, smiling. “Right! Well then, my fellow navigator, I believe we’ve a course to chart. Let’s be about it. To the Excelsior?”

Era beamed at him. This, too, was the happiest day she could remember, and it would end with a shared dream, borne aloft and bound for adventure.

“To the Excelsior.”

The chapel doors flew open on their weathered hinges, and with hearts and hands joined, Era and Cid Garlond set forth into the light of a new day.

#cid x wol #era hess #cid garlond #chrysalispen writes

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cheri-translates · 4 years

Text

[CN] S2 Gavin - The STF Filming Project (Eng Translation)

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a company project which has not been released in other servers!🍒

Do note that this post features S2 Gavin, but doesn’t contain S2 spoilers.

Timeline: The Guardian Project -> The STF Filming Project -> Dangerous Night Date

[ CHAPTER ONE ]

The brilliance of dawn filters through the shutters, illuminating the office.

The fingers tapping on the keyboard are slightly sore. I stretch. Without realising it, it’s already daybreak.

Displayed on the screen is the collaborative filming proposal I’ve been working on for several nights in a row, spanning over a hundred pages -- “A day in the Special Task Force”.

Previously, [MC’s Company Name], the government, and the STF’s collaborative criminal documentary received a surge of good reviews.

The audience also developed a huge curiosity and fervour regarding the daily life of STF members.

I originally wanted to ride on this popularity to produce a program formally introducing the STF. But right after the proposal was submitted, it was rejected mercilessly.

Although it’s understandable, I can’t help but suspect that Gavin doesn’t want to establish working relations with me.

Hence, I pump myself up, heightening my efficiency and working on the proposal in front of me.

MC: I don’t believe that this wouldn’t get approved by STF!

I’ve already sent the latest proposal two hours ago via email. The dawn is just breaking, so I don’t know when I’d receive a response...

My phone on the table suddenly lights up, the screen displaying a number I couldn’t be more familiar with.

I’m in a daze for a second, then hastily press the ‘answer’ button.

MC: Gavin, good morning.

Gavin: For this collaborative film--

MC: Hold on, don’t reject me so quickly! I’ve sent you the most recent filming proposal two hours ago, and added many more details.

On the other end of the line, Gavin is silent for a while.

Gavin: ...I’ve seen it.

I pause, a little nervous as I wait for Gavin’s final verdict.

MC: In that case, do you have any constructive ideas or advice--

Gavin: All right.

MC: What?

Gavin: The STF agrees to the filming.

His response is straightforward and succinct. The drowsiness in my head dissipates instantly.

MC: So it’s agreed! I’ll bring the film crew over to observe the site immediately.

Gavin: ...I’m not done. There’s one additional condition.

MC: It’s all right, I’ll agree to any condition.

The sound of taciturn breathing can be heard from the other end of the line.

Gavin: Hearing this from you is sufficient.

Before I can probe further, he hangs up.

MC: No matter what, these days of hard work didn’t go to waste!

After this, all I have to do is wait for the official filming and that unstated condition.

[ CHAPTER TWO ]

At 7am, the car stops outside the entrance of STF punctually. The officer in charge of receiving us, Xiao Zheng, is already waiting for us.

Xiao Zheng: Please follow me.

After going through a strict verification of our identities and an examination, we formally step into STF’s symbolic building.

According to the rules, we can access areas typically open to outsiders, and a few office buildings. We are prohibited from entering confidential areas.

Even so, the film crew maintains a high level of enthusiasm.

Kiki: Do all the special police have special equipment? For example, something which looks like a pen on the outside but is actually a powerful hand grenade, like in 007?

Minor: I heard they even have spectacles that can obtain someone’s information after scanning their pupils!

Seeing that Xiao Zheng is being put on the spot, I step in to mediate the situation.

MC: We’re just here to present a day in STF to the public. Isn’t a relaxed, mundane side of things even more interesting?

Minor and Kiki nod regretfully. A miserable, shrill cry suddenly drifts from the room at the end of the corridor.

Willow: Is there an interrogation going on? Are we allowed to collect materials on that?

Right after she finishes speaking, the electronic door opens slowly.

A special police officer pounds on his back, groaning as he walks out.

Special Police A: Hey Xiao Zheng, let me use another one of your muscle patches. My old affliction is acting up again. I almost died from the pain when I bent down just now.

The corridor lapses into complete silence.

MC: [coughs] ...actually, this is also a very interesting detail.

I turn towards Xiao Zheng, who is forcing himself to smile, and I give him an encouraging look.

Xiao Zheng: [coughs] ...l-let’s head over there.

?: How much longer were you planning to pore over the files in the office? If I didn’t call you, would you not eat at all?

??: ...I’m not hungry.

Following Xiao Zheng and entering this spacious and bright location, I hear a familiar voice from in front.

Gavin and Eli are standing not afar off. Seeing a line of people with cameras, their expressions grow slightly surprised.

Minor: Bro Gavin!

MC: This place is...

Xiao Zheng: [coughs] STF’s canteen. People don’t usually eat here though...

Accidentally meeting my eyes directly, Gavin faces away from me slightly.

Gavin: I don’t really come here.

Eli: Of course you don’t. You’re either out on a mission or poring over documents in the office.

It happens to be noon, and only a sparse number of special officers are dining in this spacious and bright canteen hall.

The cameras turn, pointing towards the tidy and clean kitchen and the array of healthy dishes behind the glass window. Xiao Zheng starts his explanation.

Xiao Zheng: All our meals are planned by a nutritionist, who takes into account their nutritional value, and prioritises foods that strengthen the body. As for the taste...

Special Officer B: Don’t you find stir-fried carrots appearing way too frequently?

Special Officer C: I think you should be eating more carrots to strengthen eyesight though. You did too poorly in your last shooting test.

Special Officer B: You... If you’re that capable, don’t get me to sneak you fruit pancakes every morning.

Coincidentally, two special officers walk past us, grumbling while carrying their plates.

Xiao Zheng: ...mm, it isn’t that perfect.

Eli and Gavin are seated at a dining table. Minor hurriedly rushes forward, pulling us over to sit opposite Gavin.

I can't help but look at Gavin's plate, and watch as he frowns while picking out the biter gourd on his plate.

Minor: Bro Gavin, you’ve been working really hard these days. I’ll give my chicken drumstick to you.

Gavin blocks Minor’s chopsticks coldly.

Gavin: No need.

Minor: ...I’ll give it to Boss then.

MC: I don’t need it either. I think it’s good to eat more vegetables - it’s healthy for the body.

I chew on the mediocre-tasting broccoli, concealing a smile as I look at Gavin in front of me.

He purses his lips, then suddenly lifts his chopsticks.

Gavin: I’ll give these to you then.

In the blink of an eye, all the bitter gourd on his plate are brought over to mine. This unexpected action causes everyone to freeze.

A period of silence ensues.

Kiki: ...Boss, I’ll give mine to you then.

Willow: Mine too...

Minor: Mine t--!

MC: ...I can’t finish them all!

Looking at the mountain of bitter gourd on my plate, I suddenly understand what they mean by “asking for trouble”.

[Note] MC uses an idiom here - “自讨苦吃” (“zi tao ku chi”), which literally translates to “asking for bitter things to eat” HAHA

[ CHAPTER THREE ]

In response to numerous requests from the female audience, we have collaborated with the STF to produce a special episode on self-defense.

At the seminar venue, there are no empty seats. A few special officers appear, and they are welcomed with cheers.

The program proceeds in an orderly manner. My line of sight shifts from the surveillance camera, and onto Gavin at the side.

MC: No matter what, I have to thank you for coming down today.

Gavin: The position of commander is temporarily vacant, so I’m handling this matter. This is one of my duties.

His emphasis on the word “duties” doesn’t leave any room for ingratiation at all.

I release a sigh in my heart, a little gloomy as I return my gaze back to the stage.

There are two special officers - one is pretending to be a victim, while the other is pretending to be an assaulter. They are currently demonstrating basic self-defense methods according to requests from the audience.

Special Officer: ...use your elbow to hit the temple of the other party. Using your kneecap to strike the abdomen of the assaulter is also a very effective counter-attack. Like this--

MC: These methods look simple. But when put into practice, they should be quite difficult, right?

Gavin: You actually worry about your safety?

Gavin glances at me. He leans against the back of the chair, speaking to me softly while flipping through pages.

I stand up, sneakily heading over to look at what he’s reading. As expected, it’s a stack of obscure, difficult to understand criminal investigation materials.

MC: I really learnt a little about it.

From his expression, it seems as though he doesn’t quite believe me. I’m suddenly struck with an idea.

MC: Actually, a very skilled and very kind person taught me a little. When I was doing a recording once, I met a stranger who kept pestering me. This very kind person stepped forward and helped me resolve the issue.

[Note] She’s referring to Gavin’s Film Studio Date -clutches chest-

The fingers flipping through the pages pause, but he doesn’t say anything.

MC: He even taught me a few self-defense methods. I always keep them in my heart, and am very grateful to him.

A hint of a ripple finally stirs in Gavin’s tranquil expression. He lifts his head, and our eyes meet.

Gavin: Simply learning these things isn’t enough. When facing different scenarios, you have to adopt different responses.

He sets down the stack of materials on the table, and suddenly stands up. The shadow cast by our height difference makes me instinctively take a step backwards.

Gavin: In these situations, what is tested is one’s vigilance and reaction speed.

MC: !

Gavin’s movements are incredibly fast, and I have absolutely no time to see what he’s doing. Both my hands are restrained by him.

My back is pressed firmly against the cold mirror, and countless similar scenes flash in my mind.

Gavin: Did that person teach you how to handle such a situation?

His voice is levelled, and it rouses me from my thoughts.

I take a deep breath, lifting my head to meet the pair of amber eyes underneath strands of brown coloured hair.

MC: ...no.

Even though he’s using very little strength this time, I can’t break free.

The door to the resting area is pushed open.

Hearing the sound, Gavin is slightly stunned and instinctively releases my hands. But it’s already too late.

The sound of laughter from behind instantly vanishes.

Staff: S-sorry for disturbing... we’ve walked into the wrong room.

MC: So... if I meet assaulters who come from behind me, I should counter-attack like this, right?

I raise my volume, desperately hinting at Gavin to cooperate.

Gavin: ...mm.

As expected, the murmurings behind grow softer.

Staff A: That almost scared me to death. So it was just a live demonstration...

Staff B: That’s right, that’s right. Our producer is also a young female, so it’s normal to learn self-defense skills.

Once they leave, Gavin hurriedly turns around.

After a moment of wordless silence, he speaks.

Gavin: ...I need to return to STF. I’ll be off now.

MC: Oh, okay...

I raise my head, and see Gavin looking as though he wants to speak, but he stops himself. Under the lights, the tips of his ears are slightly flushed.

[ CHAPTER FOUR ]

The previous shoots have received very good results. On this clear morning, a team from the company is preparing to go along with the original plan to capture some live training in STF.

However, a sudden Evol criminal incident has disrupted the plan. We adjusted our plans, and after obtaining permission, we’ve decided to film this operation.

On the roof of an unfinished building not afar off, there’s a young teenager who is being held hostage by a middle-aged man wielding a knife.

Passer-by A: I heard that this troublemaking teenager hit someone while street racing, and refused to apologise. Who knew that he had crashed into an absconding Evolver criminal...

Passer-by B: I’ve also heard about this fellow’s gang, which rides motorbikes at a breakneck speed. Sigh, kids these days really don’t learn well. This wouldn’t happen if they studied seriously.

I clear my throat, looking at Gavin who is beside me

MC: Continuing this deadlock isn’t a solution. My Evol might be able to help.

I lower my voice, pointing at the criminal, who doesn’t seem mentally stable. Gavin doesn’t acknowledge what I said, pulling me out of the crowd.

MC: H-how about I just stand at a side and watch? That should be okay, right?

The communication device in his ear sounds. Gavin pauses in his steps, his brows furrowing slightly.

Gavin: ...all right, let him take charge of this sniping mission.

He lifts his head, his gaze sweeping past the dilapidated residential building on the opposite side of the unfinished building.

Only now do I notice that behind the water tank on the roof, there’s a figure with a rifle.

Gavin: He’s a new member.

Gavin sees the incomprehension in my face, and lowers his voice to explain.

Looks like this mission is a test for this new member. And the reason why Gavin is amidst the crowd is to prevent anything unexpected from happening.

Gavin: ...the criminal didn’t notice. Prepare to fire.

The criminal is currently standing at the edge of the unfinished building, agitatedly dishing out conditions to the police. He brings his hostage one step forward.

Even though I’ve seen such a sight so many times, I still hold my breath anxiously.

Gavin: Now!

Once the clear and powerful voice leaves his lips, a gunshot is fired, but it only brushes the criminals shoulder, hitting the wall behind him.

Everyone freezes. Following that, another gunshot sounds.

The criminal releases a miserable cry, clasping at his bleeding thigh as he kneels on the ground.

In just a moment, the special officers concealed in the surroundings hastily keep the Evolver criminal under control, and rescue the hostage.

MC: That’s wonderful, this incident was handled without any mishaps!

The new member returns to the ground, his face deathly pale - as though he’s a completely different person from the heroic wielder of the sniper rifle earlier.

He hobbles over to Gavin, his expression slightly ashamed.

Gavin nods, but doesn’t say anything.

Since this is the special officer’s very first actual combat training, mistakes should be forgiven... But as the Captain, Gavin wouldn’t simply let go of mistakes during a mission, right...

Thoughts drift in my mind, and I subconsciously look in Gavin’s direction. He has walked away, with the new member trailing behind him

Gavin’s face is mostly expressionless. He says something, and the new member lowers his head even more.

The conversation ends quickly.

Gavin: Return to your team.

Newbie: Captain Gavin, I joined the STF because of you!

The new member suddenly flushes, exclaiming loudly.

Gavin: [sighs] ...

Newbie: You’ve always been the role-model I’m striving towards, and the idol I learn from! I’ll definitely reflect deeply on my mistake, and will meet your expectations!

Gavin: Enough!

Gavin cuts him off, his face darkening.

Minor: Hey hey hey, if you want to acknowledge Big Bro, you should be queuing behind me, right?

Minor is standing behind me, muttering indignantly.

Kiki: How’s it going, Boss? Have you got all the materials?

MC: Mm...

I hand over the memory card in my hand to Kiki, but my gaze subconsciously drifts to the new member and Gavin.

Under the evening sun, that new member seems to continue berating himself for his mistake, but his complexion looks slightly better.

After he leaves, I walk over to Gavin, and my curiosity causes me to speak up.

MC: What did Captain Gavin say to him? Is it a convenient time for an interview?

Gavin casts me a light glance, and answers in a casual manner.

Gavin: Ten cross-country training sessions, twenty sniper training sessions.

MC: ...STF is truly the strictest in the world.

Gavin: Such mistakes aren’t allowed during STF missions.

...I can now somewhat understand the thought process of those special officers who hold Gavin in veneration despite being around the same age as he is.

MC: ...looks like the people you have your eye on are really in danger.

Gavin seems to think of something. He looks at me, a minuscule smile suddenly surfacing on his lips.

The glow of sunset brings out the beautiful amber in his eyes. Being watched by him in such a serious manner, my cheeks heat up for an inexplicable reason.

Gavin: You should wrap up your work, and not stay here.

MC: Hold on! I still have a question.

Gavin: What is it?

MC: The condition you asked me to promise you on the first day - what is it?

Gavin is slightly startled. From his reaction, I finally confirm that he has completely forgotten about this matter!

And I’m also more and more convinced that this condition was brought up at the spur of the moment. He deliberately brought it up in the event that I cause some kind of trouble!

MC: Do you not trust me that much!

Gavin suppresses a laugh, and his expression returns to its usual calm.

Gavin: You’re thinking too much.

Gavin: But since you remember it, it will be left to be fulfilled in the future.

Gavin: Mm. From today onwards, you still owe me one condition.

- End -

The program is finally complete. From this program, the working relationship between us and STF has taken a step closer. This opportunity has not only heightened my company’s professionalism, but has also inspired future strategic layouts. We see great potential in working with STF in other areas, and hope to have the chance to develop an even deeper collaboration with them in future.

#mlqc #mlqc cn #mlqc spoilers #mlqc gavin #fluffy goodness for the soul #featuring mc's crew and gavin's crew!

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maxparkhurst · 4 years

Text

OC Info: Max Parkhurst

[Art done by Hvitkanen]

the basics –––

NAME: Maxinora Parkhurst

AGE: 25

BIRTHDAY: December 12th

RACE: Kul’tiran Human

GENDER: Female

SEXUALITY: Bisexual

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Single

SERVER: WrA/MG-US

FACTION: Alliance

FACIAL REFERENCE/LIKENESS: Luca Hollestelle

physical appearance –––

HAIR: Auburn

EYES: Hazel

HEIGHT: 5′4″

BUILD: Lithe

DISTINGUISHING MARKS:

Blind in the left eye

Glossy, pock-marked burn scars along her face covered by a black band

Full tattoo sleeves

COMMON ACCESSORIES:

Cigarette tin and matchbook

Crimson shard tied around her neck with a piece of ribbon

Small leather bound book, stuffed and bulging with loose leaf paper.

Box of chalk.

Holster holding a myriad of potions, tinctures, and tonics

Chemical-stained, ashen gloves. They were black at one point in time.

[Art done by Maoxfhan]

personal –––

PROFESSION: Alchemist | Proprietor of Parkhurst Alchemy: Potions for All Afflictions

HOBBIES: Work is her hobby. Reading light novels, specifically thrillers and murder mysteries. People watching. Window perching. “Competitive” and “cathartic” brawling. Drinking obscene amounts of coffee. Tinkering with formulas.

LANGUAGES: Common

RESIDENCE: Trade District; Stormwind City

BIRTHPLACE: Upton; Boralus, Kul’Tiras

RELIGION: More attached to the principles of Equivalent Exchange and alchemy. Believer of Destiny and the Unspoken Language.

PATRON DEITY: None

FEARS: Agoraphobia- “an anxiety disorder characterized by symptoms of anxiety in situations where the person perceives their environment to be unsafe with no easy way to escape. Includes crowded or wide open areas.”

relationships –––

SPOUSE/PARTNER: None

CHILDREN: None

PARENTS: Samuel Parkhurst (Father; deceased) and Martha Parkhurst (Mother; deceased)

SIBLINGS: Augustine Parkhurst (Younger brother; alive)

OTHER RELATIVES: A few aunts and uncles long since forgotten in Kul’tiras

PETS: Calcifer (Shop Cat)

traits –––

extroverted / introverted / in between.

disorganized / organized / in between.

close minded / open-minded / in between.

calm / anxious / in between.

disagreeable / agreeable / in between.

cautious / reckless / in between.

patient / impatient / in between.

outspoken / reserved / in between.

leader / follower / in between.

empathetic / unemphatic / in between.

optimistic / pessimistic / in between.

traditional / modern / in between.

hard-working / lazy / in between.

cultured / un-cultured / in between.

loyal / disloyal / unknown / in between.

faithful / unfaithful / unknown / in between.

additional information –––

SMOKING HABIT: never / tried but didn’t stick / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

DRUGS: never / tried but didn’t stick / sometimes / frequently / to excess / sober

ALCOHOL: never / tried but didn’t stick /sometimes / frequently / to excess.

[Art done by Frrrozi]

RP hooks –––

FOREIGNER: The note of an accent in Max’s voice is hint enough. Each word is rounded at the edge, spoken on an airy drawl in display of a Kul’tiran accent. Parkhurst will always sound more like “Pak-hust” from her lips. She appeared in Stormwind seemingly overnight and the struggles of settling in a new city with new cultures and people have struck Max hard. She works more than the average person in order to make the rent, pay her debt, and see her brother through his apprenticeship. Those from either Upton or Mariner’s Row might be familiar be with the red-head, remembering her as either a sprite of an apprentice or a jaded courier.

ONCE AN APPRENTICE: Those from Boralus may remember a distinct gentleman by the name of James Reynolds. An eccentric man know for his alchemical arts and theories on transmutation. He claimed only a few as apprentices. One of which was a girl whose love for alchemy and thirst for knowledge knew no bounds. He cultivated her passion. Allowed her to drink from an endless reservoir of knowledge until her sudden resignation. No other apprentice came under his tutelage after.

NEFARIOUS AFFAIRS: Rumors of the eldest Parkhurst’s incarceration still lurk long after her release. Under what pretenses? Depends on who you ask. Some says arson, other theft. A few say murder.

OMENS WRITTEN IN CRIMSON: Max runs an honest business in the Mage Quarter. Sells ethical potions and remedies for fair prices. But that wasn’t always the case. Her dealing with the Seventh Son’s Trading Company are anything but forgotten. Those with priviledged contacts might associate the Alchemist’s face with the cultivator of the mutagen known as “Crimson.”

UNLIKELY PAIR: Max currently hosts her younger brother as both ward and apprentice in her home. The siblings are like two different sides of the same coin. Where Max is introverted, methodical, and callused, Augustine is extroverted, impulsive, and optimistic. An unlikely pair that works seamlessly well as they garner fame for their alchemical work together.

[Art done by Em Ryn]

OOC & Contact Info ––– –

“Hey, my dudes. I’m just a dork looking for good vibes!”

CONTACT: In-game RP is honestly the best method for me; however, I am flexible with Tumblr and Discord so long as you’re chill with delayed responses. I am willing to give out Discord and Bnet deeds upon request and with a bit of interaction. Throw something in my Tumblr DMs/Inbox if you wanna brainstorm!

You can reach me in-game as: Maxinora

SCHEDULE: What is a schedule? I do not know. I barely have one. BUT! I do live in an Eastern time zone, so I’m usually popping in-game around 6PM-7PM server time depending on RL stuff.

BIG NOTES:

I like to write BIG, THICC emotes and responses. If that overwhelms or annoys you, don’t be afraid to tell me and I’ll dial it back!

I am open to a lot of different themes, though would prefer a heads-up with darker ones.

Don’t be afraid to approach with any questions or ideas you might have about the siblings! Let the creativity flow.

Anyone and everyone is welcomed to reference these two so long as you give me a bit of a heads-up :)

#this needed to be updated #might do one for auggie #may just give him his own page #OC Info #character info #Max Parkhurst #Contact page #Wyrmrest Accord #the alchemists

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ithebookhoarder · 4 years

Text

Chapter 11: A New Equilibrium. (The Gangster’s Daughter)

Masterlist:

Also available on AO3:

Warnings: Original Character(s), Canon-Typical Violence, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Explicit Language, Gangsters, Period Typical Attitudes, Parent Tommy Shelby, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent.

----------

Life adopted an unusual but steady rhythm the following weeks after the mens return home both in and out of Watery Lane.

Business was booming again, with the Shelbys at the helm. Men, all eager to enjoy the spoils of life back home in the city, eagerly filled the shop day after day, money in hand and bets ready to be placed.

There was something celebratory about it all. About seeing the hope in mens eyes as they’d handed over their bets. About hoping their luck had changed, even in most cases it hadn’t. Still, every win was significant as the staff handed over the winnings with a happy grin and handshake.

The staff in the shop felt similarly. Many hadn’t seen one another since the start of the war, having been assigned to various regiments. For those men, to be reunited again was something they’d been dreaming of. There were cheers and hugs as they’d arrived their first day back, laying eyes on the lucky souls who’d returned.

Not everyone had been so lucky, as the vacant desks reminded them. Of course, there were plans to find people to replace their positions but it was obvious it would be no small feat. There may have been hundreds of men desperate for work, but none of them would be those brave souls who had perished in France, all in the name of king and country.

Still, everyone did their best not to dwell, as was the way of life in Birmingham.

The Shelbys, in particular, had had a lot to catch up on. Four years worth of stories and news was quite a lot, even with the letters they’d been writing back and forth.

For example, Evie told them all about her schooling, and the fact she’d managed to secure a prefect badge for the final year. She couldn’t help but beam as she saw the pride swell in her father’s face - even if John and Arthur laughed themselves sick at the thought.

“A Shelby prefect? Ha! Now I have heard it all.”

She paid them no mind, finding it a little funny herself. At least she gave them something to laugh about, considering the bleak stories they’d shared. Granted, they made a valiant effort to try to liven them up, with the odd joke or two but even that couldn’t mask the death and horror of war, written all over their faces. Finally, something the Shelby smile couldn’t hide.

It was the same look Evie saw in John’s eyes when she went with him to visit Martha’s grave. They’d chosen to bury her in the cemetery just outside of the city, knowing she would have liked the fresh air, and rolling green fields around them, full of flowers. Evie had been to visit many times during the war, using it as a chance to escape when the house and the people in it had become too much.

She’d often sit and speak to Martha, telling her about what John had written in his latest letter, or even bringing her newborn child to see her. Evie knew Martha would have liked that, to see for herself that they were alright. She also knew Martha was probably happy to see John here as well, to know he was back in the city and safe.

So, she pointed him to the grave and left him to talk privately, knowing he probably had a lot to say. Four years was a long time after all.

There were other small changes too, since John, Arthur and Tommy had returned. The fact people tipped their caps at Evie when they saw her in the street - police included - was enough to make her falter. She’d hadn’t noticed it these past years, or if she had it had never been repeated enough to spark her attention.

It was as if the whole city knew the Shelby men were back. As if, the whole city was watching. Waiting.

Waiting for what?

It was an odd feeling. One Evie was quick to bury. No matter what Polly may have said had she known, there was too much to be happy about to let something as trivial as a premonition ruin it.

What good was superstition anyway? It was all rubbish.

Wasn’t it?

——

Evie should have learned a long time ago not to dismiss the idea of the supernatural, or that her aunt had a scary habit of being right.

She should have listened to her aunt’s warnings of premonitions. Maybe if she had, she wouldn’t have been so startled when she awoke one night.

It had been weeks now, since her father and uncles had returned to Small Heath.

Evie bolted upright, panting as she tried to work out what had woken her. Normally, she was a deep sleeper. It took saucepans or someone jumping on her to wake her from a good night’s sleep. However, tonight, something had yanked her from unconsciousness.

Then she heard it again: the muffled screams from down the hall.

Evie felt her blood run cold. Never before had she heard a sound so full of pain and fear. It rattled her enough that she gasped, feeling a tremor run down her spine.

It wasn’t a ghost or some demon in the night. This wasn’t one of her books, after all. The sound was painstakingly real and loud, echoing through the wall behind her. Wait. That was her father’s wall? Did that mean-?

Evie was already out of bed.

She didn’t even think as she bolted for the door and towards her father’s room. Her trembling hand reached for the doorknob and threw it open, preparing herself to see some horrific scene or someone attacking him.

But that wasn’t what she saw.

Evie gasped at the sight.

“Dad?”

She assumed it was her father, but it was hard to tell in the darkness. All she could see was a pale figure thrashing about on the bed before her, illuminated by the thin strips of moonlight pouring in through the window.

Tangled up in his sheets, a thin sheen of sweat plastering his body, Tommy Shelby almost looked possessed. Sobs and half formed shouts escaped him as his limbs thrashed about, reaching for something Evie couldn’t see. Some invisible demon.

It terrified her.

What did she do? Her instinct was to rush to his side, to try and gently shake him awake.

“Dad?” she encouraged, trying and failing to release him from the mental torment he was trapped in. How had he done it, all those times before, when she’d been small and similarly afflicted?

Evie couldn’t remember. Her panic was too strong as it rang in her ears, muting out anything that wasn’t her father.

“Dad! Wake up! It’s ok,” she pleaded. “You’re home. You’re safe. Wake up.”

His eyes snapped open. A sudden cry escaped his lips, sending her staggering backwards in a panicked daze.

“Dad. Stop. It’s me,” Evie began.

However, her words clearly had no impact on him. He was a man in a trance, still gripped by whatever terror was still inside him as he flung out a hand onto the bedside cabinet and bolted upright.

His eyes whirled to her.

She then noticed what was in his hand… The gun was pointing directly at her.

She screamed.

It fired.

Her legs gave way as she dropped to the floor, covering her head as she felt herself go numb. The sound was deafening, the shot ringing in her ears as she stifled a sob of panic.

Plaster showered down on her head from the bullet hole above her.

The sound apparently woke her father from his terror induced haze as she heard the gun clatter to the ground. She felt it as he hurried to her side, cursing and trying to get a look at her trembling body. “Where are you hit?”

He repeated it again and again as he tried to get her to respond. It took a minute before Evie could even look at him, let alone move her tongue. “I’m fine… you didn’t hit me,” she stammered, pushing his hands off of her.

“Thank God,” he croaked, his tone suddenly sharp. “What the hell were you thinking?”

What had she been thinking? Better yet, what had he been thinking? Or feeling?

“You tried to shoot me?” Evie gasped. The moment finally seemed to reveal itself to her in painstaking detail. She didn’t know what to say. All she could do was repeat the statement over and over again. “You tried to shoot me. With a gun. A real gun.”

“I didn’t know it was you. I wouldn’t have fired if I’d known,” her father pleaded, his voice trembling as relief and remorse flooded through him. “Listen to me, Evie. Never come in here again if you hear me like that. Understood?”

Evie nodded dumbly. “But… I thought… I thought you were in trouble.”

By then, she heard footsteps and knew they were no longer alone. The gunshot would have been enough to wake the whole house. If any were brave enough to investigate it was different.

“Tommy?” That was Arthur’s voice, bellowing from the doorway. He looked almost comical in his pyjamas, gun in his hand, ready to fight. He would have been more menacing if his hair wasn’t poking up in all directions. “You alright?”

“Fine, Arthur. Go back to sleep.”

“I heard shots.” That was Ada, accompanied by a frantic looking Finn.

“It was a mistake. An accident, but it’s all good now, eh?”

Was it? Was it all good? Evie knew no one better at saving face than her father. She’d learned that a long time ago even if she had yet to perfect the art.

Somehow, he managed to settle everyone and send them back to the rooms in the time it took Evie to calm her breathing. She had only just regained control of her limbs when he re-appeared, slowly easing her up off of the cold floor.

This wasn’t right. She was supposed to be the one comforting him? Not the other way around.

Yet, despite shaking still and panting as if he’d been running a marathon, Tommy began to escort her over toward his bed.

“Evie. Look at me,” he soothed, brushing his hand through her hair and gripping her chin so that she couldn’t hide from him. “I’m… I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened but it was like I was floating, looking down at my body. I didn’t even feel the gun in my hand. You know I’d never hurt you, eh? Never.”

“I know,” Evie whispered. A small nod was the best she could offer as proof.

“It won’t happen again, alright? You have to stay out if I have another nightmare like that. I… I can’t control myself or my actions.”

“But-”

“Promise me,” he begged.

She’d never heard him so scared before in her life. His grip was tight on her, but not painful as he held her, held until she gave her word.

It was clearly all she could do to calm him.

“Y-Yes,” Evie gulped. “I promise.”

Thankfully, she saw the relief her answer gave to him. It was as if a literal weight had rolled off of his shoulders.

Finally, he finally seemed calmer. Able to let go of her and resume something of normalcy. It was why he switched back to his paternal nature, reaching past her to light the the lamp beside them a moment later. He then leant back, pulling the covers aside so that they could both clamber into the bed.

Evie wanted to laugh. The last time they’d done this, she’d been much smaller.

“Are you sure?”

Tommy nodded. “Would I offer it otherwise? We could both use some sleep and maybe with each other to protect us we’ll have no more interruptions.”

Evie hoped so.

“Alright then,” she shrugged, nestling her way under the covers and curling up beside him. If only the others could have seen it. Tommy Shelby. Sleeping with his daughter curled in his arms. It was enough to make even the hardest of men melt. “Just don’t hog the covers.”

“It’s my bed, thank you very much miss. Should I read you a story?”

“Don’t push it,” Evie sniggered, even if a small part of her was tempted to say yes. She was curious which one he’d have chosen.

However, as it turned out, it would have been pointless even if she had asked him. She’d only been in bed a moment before her eyes drooped closed. Apparently, coming off of such an adrenaline high was exhausting.

So it was, Evie fell asleep that night, nestled in her father’s arms. Even asleep, her grip was deathly tight as she clung to him, as if trying to prove he was safe beside her.

She only hoped when she opened her eyes in the morning, it remained true.

This was one dream she didn’t want to wake from.

——

Tommy was gone when she woke.

The empty space in the bed beside her told Evie that fact immediately as soon as she’d opened her eyes. However, her heart stopped racing as she noticed that along with her father, his boots were also gone - the boots her father normally wore when heading down to the muddy stable yards. His cap and coat was also missing.

He must have risen early and decided to go for a ride. It was the usual Shelby tonic for most troubles, after all. No war could change that. If anything, he’d probably missed the horses and the chance to ride them for fun, not as part of a cavalry charge or supply chain.

Evie calmed down immediately.

If Tommy had ever needed a ride, it was probably that morning. Evie wouldn’t forget the look of horror she’d seen on his face the night before. The ghosts that appeared to be weighing on his soul as he’d pulled that trigger and sent them plummeting into chaos.

It would take a while for all of them to adjust. Evie was under no illusions of that and last night had made it all too clear.

She sighed. She peeled back the covers, padding over toward the window and pulling the curtains back to let in the sunlight.

Everything looked pale and starker in the sunlight than it had during the night. Then again, she’d never been in her father’s room enough to notice. It was his space. His sanctuary. One, she had always been eager to respect. He’d done the same. It was only right and fair.

Well, until last night.

It felt uncomfortable to be there without him. It had been one thing to intrude last night when she’d thought he needed her. But now… now she felt like she was somewhere she didn’t belong. Like she was about to be caught and scolded.

Her uneasiness only grew as she turned back towards the door; the bullet hole directly in her eye-line.

There was no way to avoid it.

The hole in the wall was obvious. It was hard to miss, with the ripped wallpaper and plaster powder marking it for all to see.

Evie couldn’t bear to look. Then again, at least it could be filled and mended, hidden away beneath plaster and paint. If only all such scars could be fixed as easily.

With a soft sigh, she hurried out of the room and back to her own to dress, ready to face the day as best as possible.

——

“Morning.”

“Morning, Pol,” Evie mumbled, skipping her way down into the kitchen. She wasn’t surprised to see her aunt there, pottering about as if she owned the place. She was there most mornings, choosing to come early before the shop opened. Then again, she only lived a few doors away. It wasn’t as if she had far to travel.

“Breakfast’s on the table if you want it.”

Evie smiled gratefully, perching in a chair and beginning to fill her plate with toast and jam. It was her go-to in the mornings, and after last night, she didn’t know if she could stomach a fry up.

By now, Evie knew someone would have filled Polly in on what had happened last night. Even then, Evie wouldn’t put it past the woman for her to have found out through some supernatural means. She had an uncanny habit of doing that, always knowing what Evie was going to say before she even said it.

This morning was no exception as Polly made her way towards the now cooling pot of tea on the side and began to pour herself a cup. “I heard it was an exciting night last night.”

Evie chose not to say anything. She didn’t know where to begin and honestly, she was too tired to start what was sure to be a long conversation. All she wanted was to get to school and pretend like the night had never happened.

“You could say that.”

“I could. I could also say that, from what Ada told me, it sounds like your father gave you quite the fright.”

“I don’t know if nearly being shot by your father counts as simply ‘quite a fright’,” Evie grumbled, aggressively biting the edge off of her toast. “I didn’t… It’s not his fault, I know. It was stupid of me to think he could go off to war and come back the same person but I did. Alright? I did and now I don’t know what to do, Pol.”

Her aunt sighed. She gently perched herself next to Evie as she listened to her confession. She then pushed forward a bowl of porridge as an offering and made sure Evie ate some before talking.

“You’re not stupid, Evelyn Shelby. You’re a lot of things and stupid isn’t one of them, alright?” she began calmly. “Secondly, I think you were being hopeful before, when you thought about your father coming home. You were just a child, Evie. What did you expect? There was nothing wrong with hope. God knows we needed as much of it as we could get with everything happening over in that Hell Hole. Your father did an admirable job hiding any details from you in his letters, but I’ve heard people talk. I know the horrors he must have seen.”

Horrors that now continued to plague him, or so Evie suspected. Why else did he sleep with a gun so close by?

“You both did what you needed to survive, Evie. Now that everything’s changed, the war’s over and we’re trying to pick up the pieces of our lives,” Polly continued firmly, making it clear she didn’t want to hear her niece berating herself again any time soon. “There is no right or wrong way to feel. There isn’t a guide book on how we’re supposed to behave and act. It’s down to us to listen to one another. To protect each other and support our family."

She made it sound so easy. Evie didn’t even know where to start with such a request. Wasn’t it her need to make sure her father was ok that had got her into that mess last night? How was she supposed to support a man who wouldn’t even tell her the first thing about what he’d been through or how he felt?

Then again, it wasn’t exactly as if she was going to win an award anytime soon for her emotional honesty. She’d inherited that much from him.

Evie sighed. She bit her lip as she tried to control the urge to cry. “Will we ever get back to how we used to be, before all this?”

“I could read your leaves but even then it isn’t a guaranteed thing,” Polly exhaled, letting loose a plume of smoke from her lips. “There are somethings even the spirits can’t help with or answer. This is one of those things… There’s a darkness in men, Evie. They each have their own demons to fight, just as we women do too.”

“Demons?”

Was that was she was calling the nightmares plaguing her father and uncles? It wasn’t fair. Hadn’t they all done enough fighting for a lifetime. They didn’t deserve to come home and have to continue fighting for their sanity as a result of a stupid war they hadn’t even started in the first place. To have their choices on the battle field haunting them. To have their sins linger…

“Does - does that mean,” Evie stammered, “being a soldier, he must have killed. They all must have. Dad almost did last night… Is he a good man?”

It was the first time she’d ever uttered those words aloud, the first time she’d been brave enough to truly want an answer. Even after all she’d seen since she’d entered Watery Lane.

“War changes men. I don’t think there is a set definition of ‘good’ but I know he loves you. He loves you so much he was willing to go off to war and be shot at for you,” Polly sighed, squeezing the girl’s shoulder comfortingly. “That’s all I care about and all you need to know right now. Your father needs to handle all of this, his own way. Give him time.”

“I gave him four years, Pol,” Evie sighed. “How much more time am I supposed to give?”

Nevertheless, she knew better than to argue any further, so merely looked back down at her porridge and ate silently. It was only as she went to place the dish in the sink that she finally saw the man in question.

Her father was always a composed man, no matter how rushed he was. This morning was no exception. Despite the fact he was already running late, and hadn’t even done up his waistcoat yet, Tommy Shelby strolled about with utter composure.

“Morning all,” he greeted, reaching for the teapot and a cup. His chipper tone was completely at odds with his exhausted appearance. The bags alone under his eyes alone made him look almost ill, no matter how hard he tried to hide it.

“It lives,” Pol remarked, even if living was a bit optimistic for the state he was in. “Some of us have been up for hours, you know. John and Arthur are outside waiting to open. It was payday yesterday and half the town are banging on the doors.”

“What are you keeping the good people waiting for then?”

Polly rolled her eyes, murmuring something under her breath about Shelby men and curses as she stubbed out her cigarette and marched out of the room. It was time to unleash the masses and like a tidal wave, they would come, money in hand, bets ready to be placed.

Hence why Evie was more than eager to make her escape. The last thing she needed was to be trampled to death in a stampede of factory workers and drunkards. So she hastily grabbed her bag and coat off the hook by the door, slipping both on as she made her way past her father and toward the rear exit.

“See you later,” she gasped.

However, she hadn’t even made it to the door before she heard her name called. She paused, looking back over her shoulder.

“Yes?”

“I want you home straight after school tonight,” Tommy began, his tone oddly calm. “Alright?”

Evie paused. “But I was going to go by the yard-”

“Well, change of plans,” Tommy interrupted, smiling as he tried to soothe the sting in his words. “Look, these streets have changed since the men came back. I don’t feel comfortable with you wandering out there on your own.”

“But I wouldn’t be alone, I’d be with Uncle Charley-”

“It’s not up for debate, Evie.” His tone was starting to grate on her nerves, as was his distance. It was like when she’d first joined them all over again, barely seeing him except when he needed something or wanted to check she was still breathing. “I mean it,” he repeated, watching her for her acceptance. “For the time being I want you to come home straight after school. If you want to go by the yard then one of us can take you, but I don’t want you out there alone.”

Maybe it was last night that had rattled him. Evie couldn’t be sure, but if coming home meant he would relax for even a moment then it was the least she could do. “Fine,” she conceded, rolling her eyes and stealing a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you later.”

“See you later,” he echoed, a smile cracking his otherwise cool expression. “Now go and show them other kids what Shelby brains are capable of, ey?"

“On it.”

——-

Ever since that night she’d avoided his room or even discussing anything related to their nighttime conflict. Of course, she still heard the odd moan, thud or cry. Only the odd night or so passed without a sound coming from her father’s room, but Evie wasn’t blind. She knew nothing had improved, even if he had found a temporary relief.

Evie, however, had found no such relief.

She was starting to go stir crazy in this house. It was now so loud, so crowded. Even though she wouldn’t have changed having them home for the world, she could have done without the noise and interruptions her father and uncles brought with them. Especially when she had work of her own to do that didn’t involve horses, betting or being a Blinder.

She’d resorted to studying at Polly’s sometimes after school. She’d also resorted to utilising the Garrison during the quieter periods, when she knew almost no patrons would be inside. Harry never minded, in fact he was rather supportive, letting her and Lara (when her brothers drove her mad) utilise the private room for her study sessions.

At least they both understood the struggle of a busy, testosterone fuelled house. They also understood the necessity of having female allies to get through it all.

Like now, Evie had strategically placed herself in the parlour where Polly just happened to be sprawled out by the fire, a book in one hand, a cigarette in the other. She felt somewhat bad, utilising Polly as a human shield like this, but considering it was that or failing her maths test, Evie would take her chances.

“All done, Pol!”

Her aunt was quick to appear over her shoulder, glancing over at the girl’s work for herself. It was only after she’d given her nod of approval that Evie closed the book and put it back in her satchel by the door.

“Lord only knows where you get yer brains from because it certainly isn’t your father.”

“What can I say?” Evie grinned, trying not to let the praise make her too giddy. It wasn’t often anyone ever received it in this house, let alone from someone so important - or at least in Evie’s eyes. Her Aunt was one of the people she most admired in the world, and one day she’d have the confidence to say it to her face. “I’m a natural. Must be the Shelby luck.”

“It’s something alright,” Polly smirked, lighting the cigarette she’d had perched between her lips. “At this rate you’ll sail right out of Birmingham and to the stars one day. There’ll be no stopping a smart woman like you, not in today’s world.”

Evie secretly hoped she was right, even if she felt guilty at the thought of sailing beyond the smoky horizons of Birmingham one day. “If we can now have a woman in Parliament then who knows what’s waiting for me out there?”

“Amen to that - but don’t let the others hear you saying it.” Polly smirked again before shaking her head as her name was bellowed from somewhere else in the house. “Now go on. Get out of here, I don’t need anymore Shelbys under my feet.”

Evie didn’t need to be told twice.

She was quick to gather her things and run them back upstairs, to her room. As usual, she placed them back by her bed, spreading the rest on her makeshift desk by the window. She loved that spot. It always managed to catch any sunshine the city offered, as well as offering a decent view of the houses nearby.

It was a great spot to think in. To write. To dream of a world beyond the smoky streets of Birmingham such as the one Polly had just described. As she argued, there was nothing wrong with her dreams and she knew it. It was more the guilt at thinking of needing anything other than what Evie had here that kept her quiet.

She knew her family would never see her desire for more as anything other than insulting. Or nonsense. So, she was content to keep such dreams to herself, mere scribbles in a journal. Mere stories she wrote by candlelight and stored in her desk, under lock and key.

Maybe one day she’d do more with them. Publishing them had always been a possibility, as had living them to the best of her abilities.

Why couldn’t she have daring adventures?

She was a women. Yes. She was young. Yes. But why should that stop her from doing anything?

Evie chuckled at the thought, hurrying back out onto the landing. She couldn’t see her family sharing her opinions, other than maybe Polly and Ada. She knew giving them her copy of Mary Wollenstonecraft had been a dangerous idea.

Speaking of dangerous, Evie couldn’t help but pause as she reached her father’s doorway, staring inside. She hadn’t dared step over the threshold since the other night and the ordeal she’d experienced inside. It wasn’t one either of them had been willing to repeat. Even now, she knew she should have turned away and kept walking.

However, curiosity had always been a weakness of hers.

Her eyes flickered toward the nightstand.

It was as if a siren’s call echoed from it, coaxing her in, coaxing her closer.

Before she knew it, she had strolled over, opening the drawer and staring inside. Just as she’d suspected, her father had left the gun tucked away, wrapped in a cloth and out of sight. He would never agree to throw it out entirely but at least they’d found a compromise. The bullets loose in the drawer were all the proof she needed that the previous threat had been eliminated. If he now woke up and tried to fire, the worst he’d be capable of was giving someone a fright.

The wall, and the family’s sanity, were most grateful not to be at risk anymore. Despite that realisation though, Evie felt a sudden urge ran through her to hold the gun.

She knew better than to touch it, even if a part longed to. To examine the item that had almost ended her life. To know what it felt like to hold one, to know what damage she could inflict upon an other if she so chose.

She shook her head.

She’d stayed long enough as it was.

Yet, as she went to close the draw, something caught her attention. Something she hadn’t expected to see.

A pipe?

Since when had her father moved from cigarettes to a pipe?

Evie paused, checking the coast was clear before she picked up said pipe and held it up to the light. Almost immediately her face dropped. She didn’t have to be an idiot to know what was inside wasn’t tobacco. In fact, it was a smell she knew uncomfortably well from the streets of her old home in London.

Opium.

It had almost been a pandemic in London. She’d heard enough talk of dens that had opened and of the roaring trade being run through the docks of the stuff. Her neighbours had always been ones for gossip and there had been more than enough of it to go around regarding the filthy stuff that appeared to be flooding the streets.

She’d heard what it did to those consumed by its enticing grip. She heard of their decay, physically and mentally - if they escaped being caught taking it and sentenced to prison.

She’d even witnessed it first hand. The amount of times she’d seen addicts, penniless and lining the streets as they begged for money to fund their habit, was heart breaking. But such was London. It was a place for both the elite and the tormented souls that comprised the lowest rungs of society.

Evie’s blood ran cold to think of such a substance in her house. To think of someone she loved taking it.

Anger flooded through her, followed by disappointment.

She didn’t know what to say or think. Instead, she chose the safest option for now, which was putting the pipe back inside the drawer and closing it shut. Out of sight, out of mind, or so she told herself, hurrying out of the room.

Confused was an understatement for how she felt right then. Did she say anything, even though that would prove she’d gone into his room?

Did she not mention what she’d seen and simply hope her father would confide in her?

Or, maybe he’d simply stop taking it?

It was official. Being a Shelby was too complicated. When had this become their life? Where had the care free, simpler version of their family gone? The family who had spent summers cloud watching, and made each other laugh so hard they peed. They were never perfect, but no family was.

But nightmares and opium? It was a world away from what Evie was used to.

She didn’t care what Polly had said. Giving it time wasn’t something she believed she could do. Not when it made her heart race and her palms sweat. First, she had been shot at and now her father was an opium addict…

She had to get out of the house - preferably before she lost her sanity.

——

She wasn’t the first Shelby to escape the house by covert means.

Evie had discovered that fact for herself some time ago, after catching her Aunt Ada doing just that one night.

Ada had often been off by herself, enjoying the higher sides of life in the city - or so she said after being caught by Evie one night, shimmying in the bathroom window. Apparently her window had jammed shut, leaving her caught off guard.

Of course, Evie hadn’t said anything to anyone, finding the whole thing rather hilarious as Ada tried to gracefully sneak in, her fancy dress and mud stained heels doing their best to give her away.

In exchange for mutual silence, they’d agreed a plan. From then on, Ada had been all too willing, assisting Evie in selecting something appropriate to wear. She’d also been the one to give her the first pair of proper heels she’d worn too.

“Here,” she’d smiled, offering a slightly worn navy pair of t-strap shoes. “They’re your size but I haven’t worn them in ages. They deserve to see some fun again.”

And, boy - had they seen some fun since then. It was that same fun Evie longed for then, staring out the window and sighing. Another night of house arrest was akin to torture, especially if there wouldn’t be anyone home with her anyway. Polly would be at her home, Arthur and the men would be down the Garrison, and she suspected Ada was going to be out herself. That only left her, and her father, if he didn’t have some last minute business to attend to. That, or if John and Arthur tag teamed him.

It was Saturday night. Was it truly so bad for her just to want to have some normality in her life, some excitement? Most people she knew would be out on the town… and now, so would she.

Her plan made, it had almost been too simple to get away with it. After all, Lara had been begging her for a night out on the town for weeks now. She’d called her friends when it had been quiet, and agreed the details as per their usual routine.

All she had to do now was sit back and wait - a task she didn’t realise would be quite so challenging. Not when every moment that passed made her all the more tense and itch with a need to escape the house and the chaos within it.

For example, the meeting that had been happening across the house was making Evie’s mood steadily worse. Even sat with Finn by the fire in the parlour, it was hard to miss a word being said.

They had been discussing business for the last hour, debating races coming up, issues with the office and staff, as well as a few skirmishes here and there. Apparently the Shelbys weren’t the only ones interested in expanding their business and takings now that the war was over.

“We’ll need their support if we want to keep that side of the territory,” her father explained, watching a very irate John and Arthur rile themselves up at the prospect of a fight. “We need to offer an alliance to the mill workers. They know what’s going on in that part of the city, as well as the fact they sit dangerously close to the Lees.”

“We can’t let those bastards snatch their support,” Arthur roared. “We need man power. Tom’s right. We need to send over an offer of peace.”

“I can do it.”

“You, Tom?” Arthur blinked. “It’s dangerous territory over by the Mill. Let one of the other lads deliver the message. It ain’t worth the trouble.”

“Then it shouldn’t be a problem, eh?”

“Tom-”

Tommy shook his head, chuckling as he patted his older brother’s shoulder. “Come on, Arthur. I can take care of myself. Besides, there’s three Shelby brothers. Mum had her heir and John can be the spare if anything happens to me. What’s one less Shelby?"

The laughter from the group was instantaneous. Except for Evie. In fact, she could feel her blood boil as she turned and stormed from the doorway. Any guilt that had been lingering in her gut about her nocturnal plan had evaporated at the comment.

How dare he? How dare he prance about like some king of the castle? He’d swanned off for four years, leaving everyone and everything behind as if they had been a pair of old socks.

He could risk his life in the trenches?

He could disrespect the miracle of his survival, something so many had been deprived, by risking his life again now?

He could take opium whilst ordering her about? Lecturing her about self preservation?

The hypocrisy was nauseating.

Evie swallowed, her fists clenching as she ignored the urge to say something stupid and start a fight she knew she would never win. There was stubbornness and then there was Shelby stubbornness. Instead, she stormed down the hallway, heading towards the parlour.

It was official. If Tommy Shelby could do whatever the hell he wanted, then so could she.

#ithebookhoarder #peaky blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders imagine #tommy shelby #john shelby #arthur shelby #thegangster'sdaughter

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smallblip · 4 years

Text

I see rivers

Levihan | this one’s pretty PG

They say time is a flowing river, but past the flood and the white waters, Levi knows her as Hanji first. And she hears it in the way he says her name- the words that remain unspoken-

I am yours, I am yours, I am yours.

It’s on Ao3!: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27724813

Levi knows her as Hanji first. And he hears the things they say about her. She has talent and an intellect that will save mankind. But before she’s promoted to squad leader, she’s Hanji when she first introduces herself to him, eyes bright, grinning like a madman.

She’s in the bath when she notices his apprehension. Levi favours stability, but the survey corps runs like a flowing river. The only constant is movement.

“You don’t have to call me squad leader...” she says, fingers breaking the surface of the water and watching ripples form by her wriggling toes. “I’m still your Hanji.” She says, so quiet Levi mistakes it for running water. He combs his fingers through her wet hair, untangling the knots. He tries not to dwell on the semantics.

“Rinse.”

And like clockwork, she closes her eyes and slides down the tub. The water laps around her face, tickling her cheeks, she giggles.

There’s someone at the door for her. Something needs attending to. But she’s Hanji first, and the sound of water drowns out the knocking.

≋

Hanji knows him as Levi first, he introduces himself with the mononym and she’s in awe when she watches him fight. It has taken her years of training to get where she is, but Levi is fueled by pure instinct. Even so, she gets to know him, sometimes she knows him better than she knows herself.

Hanji soothes over the sharp edges of his words and presents them how he intends. She wants the world to see him as she does. Wants them to know the depths of his heart. But when he’s alone with her, he smiles easier, laughs at the silly things she says. And Hanji's happy keeping those moments of sublimity to herself. She’s happy knowing his soul comes alive at her touch- a spectacle for her alone to witness.

Hanji knows he’s tired. She sees how the others rely on him to make the kill. Fear does things to people, and many choose to take refuge where Levi casts a shadow. Levi's face gives nothing away when Erwin promotes him to Captain.

Hanji only uses the name once in jest, when he’s making a face at the fawning. But later in her room, he’s just Levi. He’s Levi as he leans his head against her shoulder and falls into a deep slumber for the first time in a long while.

≋

And the river rages on, coursing with a vengeance. It takes Nanaba with it, then Mike, then the entirety of Levi’s squad.

Those who survive sink to the bottom of the river bed like rocks, they wash against each other in an abrasive dance.

But when Hanji finds him in the forest relief washes over her. Later she bandages his leg and tells him stories of Nanaba and Mike when they were recruits. And she tells him how much Petra adores him, how much Oluo looks up to him, how she overhears Gunther telling the younger recruits stories about him, how Eld had defended his name against the Military Police that one drunken night in the bar. With her fingers carding through his hair, she absolves him of his guilt.

“I’m happy you’re alive Levi...” she says, with enough force to silence a river.

≋

Humanity’s strongest bears a weight on his shoulders. And he’s been living up to expectations with mechanical precision. But even then, Captain Levi bleeds red.

“I’m sorry...”

“I’m not.” Hanji says, resolute. There’s a smile on her face that tells him she knows, and that he doesn't need to say anything else. “You gave your best Levi.”

“I couldn’t...”

Couldn’t protect your squad. Couldn’t stop them from getting killed.

He’s not made of metal and forged in fire. He’s Levi now, so vulnerable it makes her ache. Hanji tells him his name over and over and wills him into being. She tells him his body is made of dying stars, an intentional weave of chemicals and stardust.

And that she is happy he is alive.

That a star gave its life so he can be here; so they can be here. Safe in each other’s arms. And if even the stars are acquainted with temporality, maybe it is that which makes life so beautiful.

She doesn’t tell him that she dreams of Nifa, of Keiji, of the others. Because he’s there rubbing circles into her back when she jolts awake at night.

She’s here with Levi now, and her fear fades into the shadows. Her fingers extend like vines, pulling him close, the sheets feel like the earth beneath her skin. And she feels, in her arms, the warmth of the sun, a star, the brightest of them all.

≋

Levi finds her in the eye of the storm that has manifested around her. Upturned tables, broken chairs, and Hanji in the middle of it, fists clenched, breathing ragged.

"Goddam mess." He says as he sets the tables upright and piles up the broken chairs to be used as firewood. She helps when she realises he’s in the room.

He holds her hand and guides her away when they’re done and he draws a bath. She undresses with the compliance of a wounded animal cornered into submission. But she’s surprised when Levi joins her. It displaces some water and it splashes onto the floor. She sits, back against him, and pulls her knees to her chest. He works wordlessly on her hair, fingers massaging into her scalp, the bath water licking at the blood against their skin in an attempt at purification. It’s not their blood. Not a titan’s either. It makes Hanji feel filthy in a way she’s never felt before.

“Rinse.”

She closes her eyes and lowers herself against him. He makes way. Before she opens her eyes again, she feels the warm press of lips against her forehead. But when she opens her eyes, Levi is already reaching for the soap. There’s a smile tugging at the corners of her lips, and she’s turning to face him, hands reaching to run soap in his hair.

“Your turn.”

≋

They learn to smile and laugh again. These are the little moments that remind them that they are breathing. The new recruits are grown now, hurried along by a world turned on its head. It seems ridiculous to deny them some alcohol. So they drink, to anything they can think of drinking to.

To the dead, to the living, To vengeance, to love, and loving.

Hanji is laughing at something Connie said from across the room, and Levi doesn’t ever want to see her otherwise. But they are soldiers on the frontline of a world gone to shits, so he commits her laughter to memory instead. For now, they’re tucked in the corner of the mess, holding hands under the table out of habit, where no one can see.

She only lets go of his hand when she spots Jean and Eren fighting.

“It’s your turn with the kids, Levi!”

≋

Between stolen touches when everyone is sleeping, the brush of fingertips when they are back to back in the battlefield , and the little glances when they pass in the hallways, between death upon death upon decay, Hanji becomes the new commander.

Later in the night Hanji lets him tend to her eye. She catches the look on his face.

“It’s gross huh...” she knows, from how much it’s hurting. A reminder of what she has lost to get where she is. The people she’s lost to get where she is.

“No more than you usually are.” He says and she’s chuckling.

“I guess you can’t call me four eyes anymore...”

“Didn’t think it would be appropriate now that you’re Commander.” He says, and there’s hurt on her face. He remembers that this is his doing. He thinks about Erwin in his last moments and wonders if someone will make the same decision for them- to let the river take them. If that had been the right decision to make in the first place.

“Please...” she says like a whisper, “not you...”

Levi murmurs an apology. He pulls the sheets over them, her head on his chest, wet hair splayed on fevered skin.

“I’m still your Hanji.” She says, more for herself than anyone, and it breaks the silence like a storm. Terrible things have always happened in bad weather. But even when it’s thundering outside and the windows are far too worn to keep the wind out, Levi can’t deny that he has always loved the rain.

He remembers hearing the explosion, and him asking for her. He remembers Erwin telling him to focus on the mission. But the thing about living on the margins of heaven and hell- how easily the mind conjures up images of death. He remembers then, the relief washing over him when he sees her on the roof. He says her name like an affliction.

He kisses her forehead as she’s falling asleep to thunder rolling in the distance.

“I’m happy you’re alive Hanji...”

≋

Another year has passed. Hanji tells him the names of the flowers in Spring and they ride out to see the sea for the first time.

Levi tells her to be careful. He grabs her cloak in case she falls, and later he laces their fingers together. In case she falls, he tells himself.

They settle to the bottom of the riverbed- smooth and polished from the years that have gone, anticipating when the current will take them again.

By the candlelight, Levi looks younger, spared the fatigue of fighting. And Hanji is getting better at catching the moments when the guilt seeps back into his system. She holds him closer then.

And in the moments when Hanji lets responsibility take on a form that’s almost metaphorical- the meaning itself to a life that’s cruel and brutish- Levi holds her closer. He traces over the keloids on her skin. He removes the patch on her eye and brushes his thumb over the scar, a white line of taut skin, like a silk cocoon.

Levi knows this is stolen time, that they’re ever at the mercy of the river. But nights like these he wants to search for calmer waters, to set foot on land again and watch the water from the banks. He thinks of Hanji with him, body moulded perfectly against his like they are now. They watch the glimmer of the river flowing out to sea.

“When the time comes... Promise me you’ll let me go.” She says. Their foreheads are pressed together and Levi breathes her in, he takes in every word, how acrid they taste. He thinks about all the moments he nearly lost her. The world has taken everything from him. He begs an unnamed god every time they ride beyond the walls-

Not Hanji, not Hanji please.

It makes his stomach sink. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t protest because he knows, even though together they are whole, she’s Hanji first.

“You gotta dedicate your heart Levi...” she teases, placing a fist on his chest. She knows the whole Commander shtick doesn’t suit her. But she’s laughing and suddenly she’s young again, airy and playful. And Levi thinks there’s beauty even when they’re so far from the safety of shore. There’s beauty in the white rush of water and the capriciousness of the weather.

"Tch... Four Eyes..." Levi rolls his eyes and Hanji doesn’t point out that he’s smiling.

He presses a kiss on Hanji’s lips, no different from their other less urgent kisses- soft and gentle and the accompanying warmth blossoming in the sanctuary of ribs.

But despite words unspoken, Levi knows he has already dedicated his heart.

He is Levi first. A boy who only has a name to call his own. He is Levi who swears an oath and keeps it till his dying breath.

But there moments of being that are infinitely more beautiful. Moments that beckon to him with the defiance of home in a world with all the permanence of a flowing river. The moments that have his heart.

He is Levi when she calls his name in the thick of battle, and in the forgiving lull of the night. And he is Levi when she presses her palms over his chest and smiles when she feels the steady pulse of blood through his veins.

It beats with a defiance against the rapids, a steady thrum that calls out to her. Hanji's eyes flutter open at the touch of his hand against her cheek, the beginnings of a smile on her face. And everything left unsaid settles like dust around them. But she hears it when his hands snake around her in the bath, the water warm and inviting. In the way he presses kisses along her spine. She hears it loudest when he says her name-

I am yours, I am yours, I am yours.

"Rinse."

#levihan #levi x hange #levi x hanji #levihan fanfic #levihansofthours #shingeki no kyoujin levi #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #levi #levi ackerman #hanji zoe #hanji zoë #hange zoe #hange zöe #levihan fanfiction #mine #finish your other fics blip!#NO!#my fic

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deans-haunted-baby · 4 years

Text

Best Part of Me

*This is my fix-it of Jack’s reaction to Cas’s death in 15x19 and some of the events in 15x18 rewritten. Featuring a flashback post episode 14x10. I was so disappointed they never really let Jack feel this loss when he dreaded that deal for a whole year. The title is from a song by St Leonards. Enjoy!*

Summery: In Hastings Minnesota, after learning from Dean of Castiel’s sacrifice to the Empty. Jack runs off to be alone somewhere in the deserted town. Breaking down and reliving the last good memory of a hunt he and Cas went on together

Sam and Jack sauntered down the quiet roads, surveying the desolated scenery, coming to a 4-way stop. Nothing but emptiness all around them. Vacant buildings and vehicles, one smashed into a telephone pole. Stores still blinking their neon open signs in the windows. Car alarms blaring off in the distance. But no voices. Not a trace of any souls anywhere. Just nobody. Everyone was gone and the two hunters began feeling like they were starring in that Chuck Heston flick The Omega Man.

Jack could see his tall, anguished mentor was distracted, often checking his phone for calls in case Dean or Eileen or maybe Cas… Desperately searching inside the unoccupied cafes and stores in case they missed someone. He’d been beating himself up all night for not being able to save the AU world survivors. And it was driving him crazy not hearing from his brother for the past 12 hours.

“We should’ve heard from them by now.” Sam blurted; quickening his pace towards a truck. Peeking inside. “Come on Dean, where are you?”

“You think they’re alright?” Jack asked uncertain.

“I don’t know. But you were the last person to talk to Cas.” Sam approached the boy getting restless. “What; did he say anything to you before you guys got cut off?”

Immediately Jack stopped; swallowing hard as he lowered his eyes to the pavement. “No…not really.”

The truth was Jack couldn’t get over this weird twinge he felt in his chest; an ache that refused go away. Like a piece of him had been severed and now he was nursing the phantom pain. The Nephilim boy had it ever since the last time he spoke to his father on his phone…before they were abruptly interrupted by static. Last night the group had split. Dean and Castiel went to confront Billie at the bunker while Jack stayed behind with Sam at the hideaway to protect the remaining people that hadn’t been erased. Next thing he knows survivors are disappearing in front of him, people he knew. Friends and fellow hunters. And then his phone set to vibrate; buzzes irritably in his jacket pocket to which he’d fished it out.

________________________________________

Several hours earlier

“Jack!” the angel’s gruff voice was urgent. But relieved when his son had answered. “Oh, thank heavens.”

“Cas?” the young boy chirps; raking his fingers through his hair. Still not over the shock of seeing all their people vanish and exchanging disturbed looks with Sam. “Cas are you and Dean okay? Did Billie?”

“No, we’re fine,” he replies back; tone switching from critical to sudden despair. “What about you and Sam, the survivors?”

Jack’s face fell on the verge of tears; pacing away from the tall hunter and leaning against the wall.

“They’re gone.” He chokes out. “All of them… Cas…Sam and I tried…we tried… It happened so fast… We just couldn’t save anyone.”

The Nephilim boy heard a heavy sign on the other end then Castiel says, “It wasn’t your fault Jack. None of this is your fault, alright.”

“No, I could’ve done something! If-if I still had my powers, I could’ve protected all of us!”

“Jack, no. Don’t do that to yourself. There was nothing you could’ve done and you did all you could do, okay.” The angel encourages firmly though soft. Giving Jack a chance to calm down before he adds. “Listen…there’s something I…need to tell you…in case anything happens.”

Jack’s heart rose in his throat. “What do mean in case something happens to you?” he demands; voice rising. “Cas what’s wrong?”

“Nothing…yet.”

“What does that mean?”

“You remember what we talked about?” There’s something in Castiel’s question that begins to worry the young Nephilim. “The night we were hunting in Albuquerque?”

Jack let out a sharp intake of breath. “Yes but…what does that have to do with right now?”

The angel hesitates briefly and resumes a response; spontaneously changing the subject.

“I’m so proud of you Jack. I’m proud of the person you are and who you’re becoming,” Castiel’s deep baritone was gentle as it always was whenever he spoke to his son. Never above a decimal than he had to; reserving his emotions. Yet the sadness was unmistakable. “The day that I met you and your mother…changed my life forever. When you chose me…I knew…I knew the moment when I first connected with you through Kelly…felt your love…that I wanted to be your father. And I never felt more happiness in all my eons than I did raising you.”

“Cas why’re saying this?” Jack stuttered; his eyes glistening. He was so confused over the angel’s choice of phrases. “Don’t…”

“Jack I…I need you to do something for me…alright?”

Castiel’s request was blunt yet sudden, jerking the young Nephilim out of his afflicted stupor. “What is it?”

“I want you to look after Sam and Dean for me,” He says melancholically. “Can you do that?”

“Why? What about you?” Jack gasps; his whole-body trembling; going cold. Sinking into a corner holding his knees. Yet he tries to maintain his anxiety during the situation. “Cas, you’re scaring me.”

“I know this is going to be difficult for you to understand but…I want you to be strong, Jack. Stronger than you’ve ever been… To never give up on yourself no matter what. Because I know you will do amazing things one day. I believe in that. I’ve only ever seen good in you.”

“Cas…”

The angel pauses, and with another sigh he reveals, “I love you, son. I love you more than anything in the whole world… You’re the best part of me, Jack… I’m happy because of you; for the time we got together. And I just wanted you to know that…”

Jack could hardly speak his throat clogged. Tears now rolling down his cheeks. He wanted to return those words so badly, his chest swelling like something crushed him from the inside. Finally untangling the muscles in his neck, he pleads.

“Cas…Dad, wait I-” just as the Nephilim boy is about confess the line goes dead mid-sentence followed with an indescribable pain hitting him in the heart; causing Jack to drop his cell in defeat. Muttering the words to himself. “…I love you too.”

________________________________________

Present time

Not long after the two hunters had given up their search for signs of life, did they hear a familiar engine of a car. And a black 67’ impala wheeled around the corner of the street; parking beside two large plants in front of a blue and white store. Dean, he was alive. Sam and Jack wanted to feel elated at that moment…until they saw him exit the vehicle. Alone. And the Nephilim boy’s chest pains increased. Why wasn’t Castiel with him? Jack was too afraid to even ask in case he got an answer he didn’t want. So instead, the three guys traded bleak looks in the middle of the road; minding the fragments of what was once a functioning civilization.

“Everyone’s gone,” Sam says to Dean; barely leveling his shock. Looking around with that false hope someone else might pop up. Then he glances back at his older brother who’s avoiding his gaze. “You see anybody on the way here?”

“No.” the elder Winchester replies huskily. His expression tormented. Again, Jack is afraid of reading him too closely.

Sam fidgeted on the spot; squints his eyes and imparts, “I couldn’t save anybody.” A hint of bitterness enflames his voice at the thought of that reaper. “Billie.”

“It wasn’t Billie. It was Chuck.” Dean discloses.

“What?”

Right then Jack couldn’t keep quiet anymore. He needed to know the truth; impulsively jumping into the conversation.

“Where’s Cas?” His voice was harsh.

The taller Winchester peered over his shoulder at the Nephilim boy but Dean couldn’t even give him direct eye-contact. Visibly shaken. Jack had detected redness within the whites of his puffy eyes. He was so anguished about something that it made the other two hunters nervous. Finally, its Sam’s turn to inquire about the angel’s whereabouts.

“Dean, where is he?”

The elder Winchester was apprehensive; staring off vacantly. Hanging his head and licking his lips trying to conjure up the best explanation he could which might lessen the blow. But Jack was impatient; arms at his sides. Heart pounding with fear. He doesn’t want excuses he just wants a straight answer from his other mentor about his dad. And he was going to get it whether he liked it or not.

“He saved me. Billie was coming after us and…Cas fought her off until we found someplace safe,” asserts Dean and he looks over at Jack who’s getting paler listening to the story. “While you and Cas were…speaking on the phone, he summoned the Empty. It took her. And it took him…” Jack’s heart instantly sank to his stomach. No, this couldn’t be true. No. The Nephilim boy backpedaled, shaking his head in disbelief. Noticing the tears in the hardened hunter’s eyes. “I’m so sorry Jack… Cas is gone.”

Sam’s grief had swallowed him up whole; touching his face with both hands. Struggling to keep it together. But Jack was the opposite. Standing there wearing a hollow smile; releasing a counterfeit laugh.

“No, that’s not true,” argues the Nephilim. “I just talked to him last night. He was okay.”

Sam attempted to console the boy; quickly wiping at his wet face. “Jack.”

“Cas’s fine you’ll see. He’s coming back. He has to come back. I didn’t get to tell him I loved him too.”

But Dean hardly in the mood for sentiments wouldn’t play along. “Jack, he-he’s not… Cas isn’t coming back. I’m sorry.” As Sam tries to reach his hand out to touch the young Nephilim’s shoulder, he receives a heated defensive glare.

Nobody touches him there except for Castiel. NO ONE.

“NO!” Jack barks jerking his body away from the taller hunter’s grasp; face beet red. Even though he already knew. Felt the truth in his heart all along the second that line went dead; the boy had been reluctant to accept it. He was too overwhelmed with denial. “I said Cas’s is coming back! HE’S COMING BACK!”

“Jack, wait!”

Quickly the Nephilim storms off in a random direction of the street; ignoring the Winchesters’ shouts behind him. It didn’t matter where he was going, he just needed to get away from them. Away from the sunlight. From the noise. Away from everything else still standing. Into nothingness. Somewhere that didn’t feel so loud or enclosed. Putting a palm to his head, Jack starts to feel dizzy and an urge to vomit. His vision blurred and his legs began to wobble each step he took. Nothing felt real anymore. It was terrifying.

He could hardly breathe as if something were suffocating him.

Over and over, Jack’s mind is racing in between panicked breaths. “Cas? Cas, where are you?” Reaching his hand out in front of him like a blind person; aimlessly searching for that invisible tether that bound him to the trench-coated angel. Receiving nothing but a light breeze against his skin. “Dad, please, tell me where you are?”

At last, the Nephilim boy stumbles on an old dessert parlor. Sammy’s Highway Café. Despondently gawking at the stupid giant pink milkshake on top of the sign. Walking inside not caring whether he was trespassing or not. The lights were off but Jack could see traces that this place was thriving not too long ago. It smelt of stale food and drink; evident of half eaten platefuls of burgers with fries and empty glasses sitting on top of some of the booth tables. Along the counter was a partially bitten donut beside a cold mug of coffee. A receipt with some money next to the till. And draped on one of the stools, it seemed as though someone had left their beige jacket which resembled so much like the angel’s trench.

Fragments and memories…of live people. Before Chuck took them…just like Castiel. His father.

Stepping towards a jukebox tilting his head, Jack’s blue eyes meet a half-full glass of milkshake sitting on the table close by. Pink, like the one on the sign outside. It disgusted him. A serge of hatred suddenly overflowed his body; knocking it onto the floor and smashing into pieces on impact. Unable to avoid the dibble of pink goo getting on his jeans only enraged the Nephilim more. Resulting in a fit of fury; swiping everything off the counter. Kicking at stray contents clinging to his shoes. His throat clogged up as the anger gave way to uncontrollable sobs. He wanted the pain to stop, but no matter how many things he destroyed, the hurt wouldn’t leave him.

“Cas you liar! YOU LIAR!” he howled; covering his tearful face with one hand collapsing into a corner. Crying. “You said you’d still be with me!”

For over an hour Jack sat like this; breaking down into his palms over his knees. Shedding more tears than he ever thought possible. Practically wearing his eyes out. It was his fault. He should’ve said it back, why didn’t he say it back? Why could he never tell the angel how much he’d meant to him when it counted? Jack wanted the tears to stop the but every time he tapped into an arbitrary memory of Castiel’s face smiling back at him or giving him that infamous sage advice. Heard that soft raspy voice saying his name. The pain worsened causing Jack to cry harder and longer.

All of a sudden, a sharp jab interrupted his grief. Jack was just about to grab the thing whatever it was and toss it until he realized what it was. Digging inside the sleeve of his white jacket, the Nephilim pulls out a single silver angel blade. Jack had completely forgot he’d been carrying it around with him since yesterday. No much longer than that, he carried it all the time in his clothes for a year now as it was very special to him. Wiping at his eyes, Jack clutches the blade and is instantly transported back into a memory of when he’d first received the weapon.

________________________________________

One Year Earlier

Castiel and Jack were in the outskirts of Albuquerque hunting a couple rugarus in the process of kidnapping a family in a warehouse. Around this time the young Nephilim was on probation for using his powers in the fight against AU Michael’s monsters. Ending with the unholy archangel prince trapped inside Dean’s mind. The reason for the restrictions was because of the resurrection spell keeping Jack alive. Every time he used power, he’d burn off part of his soul; something Castiel and the Winchesters did everything possible to prevent. And the best distraction for boy was usually going on some Team Free Will 2.0 hunts.

“Jack, NOW!” the angel shouts, wrestling with the second monster after his son successfully torches the first.

“I got it!” the Nephilim calls back, aiming the flamethrower nozzle ready to blast the creature. He’d remembered Sam and Dean’s specific instructions that the only way to kill a rugaru was to burn them. And he would’ve if he hadn’t frozen on the spot; Castiel would’ve been fried otherwise. There was no way, he couldn’t risk it. “I-I can’t! I can’t get him!”

“Jack, what are you doing?!”

“I don’t want to burn you!”

Immediately the angel groans grumpily. “It’s not holy fire!”

Jack wasn’t a gambler. “Yah but-

“Jack!”

Running out of time, the frantic young hunter goes over another strategy in his mind. He wasn’t willing to singe his dad to stop a monster. And that’s when it hit him. Reckless though it just might work.

“Wait, Cas let him go!” he clamors.

“What?!” Castiel was mystified at how crazy that plan was.

“Just let him go, trust me!”

Taking on too much faith the angel puts his trust in his son anyway and releases the rugaru; dodging out of range. As expected, it instantly launches at the nonchalant Jack who’s armed and ready with the flamethrower; projecting a lethal jet fuel of fire. The Nephilim then covers his ears as the creature releases high pitched throat screeches; its entire body engulfed until the thing’s charcoal hide falls lifeless to the ground. Breathing a sign of relief, Jack stares at the dead monster; spacing out. Brought back to reality when he hears the angel grumbling and rushes to his aid.

“Are you okay?” he asks his dad breathily; helping him to his feet.

“Yah, I’m fine.” Castiel belches; still sore from the fight. As an angel he was much stronger than a human, though it still hurt getting punched in the ribs. And the monsters he tangled with were far from weaklings. “So that was your plan? Just let him go, huh?”

Jack shrugged smirking. “It worked didn’t it?”

“Yes, it did.” The reluctant blue-eyed angel agrees dryly; giving his son an affectionate shoulder pat. “Come on, we’re not finished yet.”

“What do we have to do now?”

“Tend to the civilians.”

After releasing the captive family, Castiel and Jack resumed the dreary task of getting rid of the rotten smelling corpses and packing their things into the aquamarine pickup truck. The night air was hot accompanied with the usual sounds of owls and crickets chirping. Jack’s busily loads the flamethrower into the back compartment, unaware his father is taking a moment to gaze at him. Expressionless though underneath that reserved exterior is admiration. Despite using none of his powers, the boy had handled himself just as he’d done the other several times they’d hunted together.

Castiel couldn’t help feeling impressed with Jack; overwhelmed with a sense of pride. He’d come a long way in his training in such a short time; picking up skills faster than the angel had seen any human. But Jack wasn’t just getting better at the combat or the weaponry. His mind functioned more acutely than any other hunter in the field. And he wasn’t even three years old yet. Still there was something about tonight’s hunt that bothered Castiel. His son had nearly given into his own fear. Fear of losing…him; which could’ve costed them the lives of the family they were saving.

“Well, we’re all packed.” Jack announces gleefully; turning to the angel.

Stonily, Castiel approached the young Nephilim.

“Good.” He says; scratching his hair. “Ah Jack…can we talk about what happened back there?”

The question made the boy frown, unwinding his jaw. “Oh…right… Yah, I-I’m really sorry, Cas. I didn’t mean to-” He stopped himself.

But the angel finished his sentence. “To freeze?”

“Yah.” Jack hung his head in shame.

“Do you know why?”

Did he know why? Of course, he did! Jack was afraid. Afraid of hurting Castiel. No…he was scared of losing him and had been ever since that deal he’d made with the Empty. For the past month it’d been daunting on Jack the severity of his dad’s sacrifice; what it meant. Tried as he might to pretend it didn’t trouble him. Smiling, acting normal. the Nephilim secretly agonized over the angel’s fate. To the point where it either made him overprotective of Castiel or reckless during hunts. Just like tonight.

“I…just didn’t want to set you on fire too, that’s all.” Jack answers vaguely earning his dad’s titled scrutinized glare.

Being as close as they were, Castiel was pretty astute at reading his son’s body language. Knowing when he wasn’t entirely honest. “Are you sure that’s what it was…or was there something else holding you back?”

Jack swallowed, averting his gaze. And it dawns on the angel, sighing, looking heavenward. He didn’t need a verbal explanation; putting his hand on his son’s shoulder in an attempt to console him.

“Oh Jack, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize how tough this has been for you.”

“I can’t help it,” concedes the young Nephilim; his gaze shiny. “I know you said not to worry about you but…I am. All the time. And when I keep thinking about that deal you made… I get this…awful feeling in my stomach. Like I’m being torn apart…from the inside.”

Castiel’s reserved face promptly falls, listening intently as Jack confides his deepest fears. Knowing that this deal had been causing his son so much grief pained him. The angel felt like someone had just run him through with his own sword.

“Cas I…I love you. And I don’t want to lose you. Not to the Empty or to anything.”

Parting his lips and softening his eyes; slowly absorbing everything he was hearing. Castiel was touched; taking a deep breath before reassuring. “But Jack, that rugaru was barely a threat to me. And you know my deal with the Empty… I’m far from happy for it to take me away any time soon.”

“What if I don’t want it to ever take you?” Jack remonstrates; defiantly scowling.

“I’m afraid its not that simple.” Sadly, contests the angel.

“But…I don’t want to lose you. I hate even thinking about it.”

“I know…so do I.”

Together the angel and the Nephilim boy endure a tender moment, leaning against the tail end of their truck side-by-side; taking small solace in each other’s company. And quietly gazing at the stars. Then out the blue a bright twinkle catches Castiel’s eye; reminding him of something he’d forgotten. His present to Jack. They’d been so wrapped up in dealing with Michael’s shenanigans, he hadn’t even found the time to give it to him yet. Delving into one of his trench-coat sleeves, Castiel presents the dumbfounded Nephilim with a polished angel blade.

“Cas what…why are you giving me this?”

Castiel pursed his gentle smile and winked. “Call it a late Christmas present. I’ve ah, I’ve been meaning to give it to you…when I felt there was a more appropriate time.”

Jack furrowed his brows; observing the weapon. “Your angel blade?”

He humbly accedes.

“Not just any angel blade but…its the very first one I ever fought with.” Divulges the docile angel. With two fingers he carefully touches the tip, devotedly looking over Jack’s awestruck expression. “I won many battles with this blade…for millions upon millions of years. Just when I thought I’d fall…this weapon seemed to…save my life. And I started to look at it as more of a…good luck charm I guess.”

“Cas I…I don’t know if I should take this. It means too much to you.”

“Jack, I want you to have it. Sort of a celestial warrior’s birthright and with your archangel half technically being of royal lineage…and you’re my son.” The young Nephilim grinned at him somberly; working the blade in his hand. And Castiel pauses giving himself a minute to think about what he was going to say to his son next as it would be difficult. Exhaling heavily, he conveys. “But I also want you have it…as a reminder that…wherever I am…I’ll always be with you.”

At this Jack’s eyes find his dad’s; expression dismal absorbing Castiel’s every word. “Because someday Jack its true, I won’t be here and you’ll have to carry on with your life. I can’t say when it will happen…it could be months or years… Whether it’s the Empty or something else…we will be separated… And it will hurt…” The Nephilim boy’s lip quivered as he holds back oncoming tears; looking away. Pain twisting all his insides; he didn’t like this conversation. Though Jack’s ears and heart remained open to the angel; touching his chest using his index finger. “But just because I won’t physically be here anymore…doesn’t mean I’m gone, Jack. I’m right there…within you. Whenever you need me. You understand?”

“I think so.”

Without warning Castiel embraces Jack in a bone-crushing hug; chins touching shoulders. Closing their eyes. And they held each other tight; savoring every single second of that closeness.

“I love you Jack.”

And Jack whispers out of earshot. “I love you too…Dad.”

________________________________________

Present time

Just like that the memory passed. Jack was back in the café he roughed up earlier. Alone. Curled up in fetal position, clutching the precious gift his father had given him; tears still streaming down his face. Hair matted and moist; clothes soiled. And his heart as broken as that milkshake glass he’d smashed on the floor. Castiel was gone. His dad was gone… Forever… It didn’t feel real, more like a nightmare. A nightmare Jack desperately wanted to wake up from. He couldn’t even think about moving his body it hurt too much. Whenever he tried lifting his head the dizziness settled in and he sunk back into his depression.

“No, I can’t do this.” Jack thoughts bombarded; gawking the angel blade in his grip. “I can’t keep lying here feeling sorry for myself. He wouldn’t want that, not after giving his life for me. I’m supposed to be a hunter and a celestial warrior. I have to be stronger now.”

Using every muscle at his disposal, Jack forces himself up off the floor. Grabbing a stool and countertop for support. His whole body ached; weighted down like it was full of dumbbells yet he didn’t quit moving. Jack could hear Castiel’s voice in his mind, encouraging him like he’d always done on hunts and during one of their sparring sessions in the gym.

“Come on Jack, get up! Get up now!”

“Yes, I will,” the Nephilim promises himself; gnashing his teeth. Lumbering forward on his wobbly legs ignoring the agony. “I won’t let you down Cas! I swear I won’t.”

“That’s it Jack, come on! You’re almost there!”

“Okay!”

One foot in front of the other. Jack slowly repeats this method of awkward walking until all the muscles in his legs have loosened and are functioning properly. As he’s feeling more mobile the pain is subsiding. It’s not quite gone but it’s not intolerable either. In fact, the Nephilim uses it to power through the wreckage and towards the exit. Drying his eyes with the back of his palm. Before Jack realizes it, he’s already reached the door pushing it open. And on his way to search for the Winchesters. Because he’s not alone… He’ll never be alone. He has his family. And Castiel is always with him; guiding him.

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little-ligi · 4 years

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Febuwhump - No. 12

No.12 - “Who Are You?” Fandom - BBC Merlin Wordcount - 1822 @febuwhump

“You can’t be serious?” Merlin cried, gazing up into the dragon’s huge face.

“It is your destiny to stand at his side and save his life, young warlock,” the great beast said in his wise voice.

Merlin was beginning to regret following the voice he’d heard in his head down to this cave. He could’ve still been asleep in his nice new bed, rather than being given some ridiculous rescue mission by a dragon. Perhaps he was still in his bed, perhaps this was a dream? He pinched his arm. It hurt a lot. Damn. He looked back up at the dragon.

“I’ve only been in this city since this afternoon!” he told him. “I don’t even know who the prince is.”

Continue reading on Ao3, FF.net or below! 👇

The dragon closed its eyes and leaned its head down to Merlin’s, the hot breath from its nose washing over him, ruffling his hair.

An image appeared in his mind; a handsome, blond young man, fast asleep in a huge, red velvet covered bed. A shadow was moving in the corner of the room, and Merlin saw the glint of a long thin knife. A dark cloaked figure dashed forwards, arm raised, the knife sweeping down, plunging into the sleeping prince who woke with a ragged scream that was cut off abruptly as the figure stabbed him again and again.

Merlin cried out in vain. The image withdrew, replaced with a maze of corridors and hallways, staircases and doorways, a route from the prince’s room down, down into the very cave Merlin was standing.

“This assassination has not yet taken place,” the dragon whispered, raising its head again, its golden eyes boring into him. “It will happen tonight. I have shown you the way. Go. You must save the prince’s life.”

“But –”

“There is no time to lose, young warlock. Go.”

Merlin gave the great dragon one more suspicious glare before turning and running back through the cave towards the stairs that would lead him up into the castle. He leapt up the steps two at a time, only tripping once, but managing to not fall and carry on running. He sprinted along, his feet unconsciously following the route the dragon had placed in his mind until he came to a set of double wooden doors. He snatched for the latch to open them, bouncing backwards when he found them locked.

“Aliese!”

He shoved his hand against the door again, throwing magic into it as he did so. He heard the bolt slide across on the opposite side and the door swung open.

The moonlight was filtering in through the partially open curtains and the room looked just like it had in the dragon’s vision. Merlin hurried as quietly as he could towards the bed; he didn’t want to risk waking the prince up in case the dragon was wrong. But the prince remained fast asleep, his head turned towards Merlin on the rich velvety pillow. He was lying on his back, one arm flung up over his head, the other fisted in the blanket under his chin.

Merlin skirted around the end of the bed, going straight to the corner that the assassin had been hiding in the vision. The corner was empty. A quick check of the other corners and any alcoves where someone could be hiding, found the room completely assassin-less. He let out a gusty sigh of relief as he stepped backwards out from behind the dressing screen.

“Who are you?” a harsh voice behind him demanded and he felt a short blade pressed right up against his back.

He spun around. The prince was awake. Damn, Merlin must have made a noise without realising it. He was barefoot and naked to the waist but his grip on the dagger and his easy fighting stance made him seem intimidating nevertheless.

“Who are you?” he spat again.

“I’m Merlin. Who are you?” he snapped back, internally berating himself for asking such a stupid question.

“I’m Prince Arthur,” he said, smugly Merlin thought, and jabbed the dagger in Merlin’s direction. “What the bloody hell are you doing in my bedroom? You’re clearly not some kind of assassin so… what? A pervert who gets off on watching people sleep? Or just a simpleton who can’t find the servants’ quarters?”

Merlin caught a flicker of movement from behind the prince. The window was slowly opening as a dark clad figure eased their way over the windowsill. Of course, right now was when the real assassin had chosen to turn up. Great.

“I’m here to save your life,” he told the prince then tackled him to the floor as the assassin ran towards him, knife raised.

Pain erupted in Merlin’s shoulder as he fell; the assassin’s knife had caught him instead of the prince. He looked back up at the hooded figure and pushed his magic out, making the assassin fall. The prince scrabbled up from underneath Merlin, wielding his own dagger. He pushed Merlin aside and stabbed the assassin in the stomach. The man’s hands uselessly grabbed at the blade in his belly and he staggered backwards, toppling over. The prince leapt on him, kicking his knife away.

“Guards!” he yelled, pinning the struggling man down and punching him squarely on the jaw to knock him out. “Guards!”

A few moments later, three uniformed men with swords drawn burst into the room, surveying the scene with expressions of surprise.

“Your Highness?” one of them asked uncertainly.

“Fetch my father, tell him I have apprehended an assassin… and this idiot” – he jerked his thumb at Merlin. Then seemed to notice the cut across Merlin’s shoulder, blood staining his white nightshirt. He tutted. “Get Gaius too.”

“No, you don’t need to tell Gaius,” Merlin whined. His uncle would probably tell him off for this.

“Shut up,” the prince said to him before turning to the guards. “Go, now.”

“Yes, sire.” Two of them hurried off.

With a final twist of the dagger in the assassin’s belly, the prince stood up, looking up at the third guard and gesturing to the body.

“Get him out of my room.” The guard grabbed the unconscious assassin and dragged him to the door.

The prince sighed, dropped the bloodied dagger to the floor and stomped across his room to the jug and washbasin in one corner. He poured water over his hands, rinsing off the blood, then grabbed a cloth and dipped it into the clean water in the jug.

Merlin was twisting around, trying to get a look at the cut on the back of his shoulder, but the prince shoved him face down to the floor, kneeling at his side and pressing the damp cloth to the wound.

“Who are you again?” he asked, pressing hard.

Merlin hissed in pain.

“Merlin.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before.”

“I only came to Camelot this afternoon.”

“And yet you decided it was a good idea to break into the prince’s private rooms in the middle of the night?”

“Well, the stupid dragon in the caves told me you were going to be assassinated and I had to stop it,” Merlin blurted. He wasn’t really thinking about what he was saying, his mind occupied by the pain in his shoulder and the cold floor pressed against his cheek.

“The stupid…” The prince sat back on his heels, his hand falling from Merlin’s shoulder. “The what?!”

“The… dragon…” Merlin’s voice petered out slowly, he got the feeling he really shouldn’t have mentioned anything. Clearly the prince didn’t know here was a dragon chained up under his palace. Oh shit. Gaius’s words suddenly filtered back into his mind. Magic was banned in this kingdom… dragons were seen as evil… magic-users were executed. Oh shit.

Panic welling in his chest, he scrabbled up to his knees, facing the dumbfounded prince.

“Do you have some sort of mental affliction?” the prince demanded.

“No!”

“But you think you can talk to dragons?” He gave him a sceptical look.

“No?” Merlin lied, hoping it didn’t sound as completely idiotic as he felt. But the prince hadn’t jumped to the conclusion that Merlin had magic. He obviously hadn’t noticed Merlin knocking the assassin over either. So perhaps it was better for him to believe Merlin was just a bit simple?

“Honestly… Who the fuck are you?” The prince was angry again now. He snatched up his dagger once more, pointing it at Merlin’s chest.

“No one, I’m just… I’m Gaius’s nephew, I came to stay with him. I… I didn’t plan on talking to a dragon,” Merlin rambled, unable to stop himself in the face of the prince’s dagger. “Or meeting you or… or anything. I just came to learn to be a physician…”

The prince frowned. His eyes flickered from Merlin’s face, to the small bloodstain where the assassin had fallen then around the room before landing on the closed door.

“You’re too stupid to be a physician. I should call the guards back…”

“I just saved your life, you prat!” Merlin shouted. How hard was it to just say thank you? Then clamped his mouth shut when the prince raised his eyebrows, his hand shifting on the dagger.

The prince pierced him with a steely gaze, his bright blue eyes holding Merlin frozen with scrutiny. Merlin tried not to blink. Eventually, he put the dagger down.

“There’s something about you…” he muttered. His eyes narrowed fractionally.

But before Merlin could say anything the door was flung open.

“Arthur!” came a shout then an imposing looking man strode into the room, flanked by guards.

He must be the king, Merlin surmised, confirmed a second later when the prince stood.

“Father.” He gestured out into the hallway again. “Did you see the assassin?”

“Yes. Well done,” he commented lightly, then scowled around the room. “How did he get in?” He glanced down and saw Merlin on the floor. “An accomplice?” he growled, stalking forwards and grabbing a handful of Merlin’s shirt.

“No.” Frowning, the prince put a hand on his father’s arm until the king let go of Merlin. “He, uh, he saved my life.”

The king’s eyebrows shot up so high it would have been funny if Merlin wasn’t so anxious about his reaction.

“This servant? Saved your life?”

“Well-” The prince pulled a face, clearly unhappy to admit he’d been saved by a mere servant after hearing the disbelief and derision in his father’s voice. Prat, Merlin thought. “He woke me up so I could deal with it. And got in the way of the dagger.” He gestured to Merlin’s cut shoulder.

The king gave a surprised laugh. “Very well. You shall be rewarded,” he said to Merlin. Merlin sat up a little straighter, a bemused smile crossing over his face. “You shall be the prince’s manservant,” the king proclaimed, nodding and turning away from Merlin.

“What?” the prince spluttered. “Father!”

Merlin’s head dropped into his hands. Oh great.

#febuwhump2021 #febuwhumpday12 #who are you #bbc merlin #fanfiction #different first meeting #bloody riddle dragon #protective merlin #oblivious arthur #ligi writes

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s-creations · 4 years

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Return the Flames - Chapter 7

All at Dead Bird Studios knew of Amos' (The Conductor's) ability. How the owl could suddenly erupt into flames if angered enough. When the studio first opened, Dominic (DJ Grooves) was told that Amos had his ability under control. Nothing to worry about. No possible loss of anything from an open flame.

A few years later however, and that control seems to have lessened to a dangerous degree.

It should have just been a simple, week long drive to fix the problem. It really should have been.

Dominic should have asked a lot more questions and should have been prepared for a twist ending.

_________________

Fandom: A Hat in Time Rating: General Audience Relationships/Pairings: The ConductorXDJ Grooves Warnings: Eventual depictions of violence, slow burn relationship, named characters, attempt of an accent, being hunted down, a race against time (sort of).

One good thing to hold onto, during this troubling time, was that both directors had their wallets. Even after being flung around in or flung out of the crashing car. They were able to purchase the needed items and rent a car from the larger section of the town. Back on the road within two hours.

“I’ll be honest, I don’t think I’m up for driving all day.” Dominic remarked, a yawn escaping him once completing that sentence.

“Do ya need me ta take over in a few?” asked Amos.

“If you’re up to it. But I have a feeling we're both in need of an early night.”

“Do ya think that’s a smart idea?”

“We can’t not sleep Amos.”

“But we just got away from our new, unwanted stalkers.”

“I think they’ll also need time to lick their wounds. As well as try to figure out which way we might be going next before getting to our final destination. At the moment, we have the upper hand.”

“Ya seem ta know a lot about this.”

“I’m just using rational thinking. Now, you get some sleep. I’ll wake you in a few to decide if we need to stop or not.”

“Dominic…”

“I’m alright,” the penguin gave a gentle smile, “I’m not dealing with an ‘illness’ that could possibly... Just sleep Amos.”

The owl didn’t have enough energy to put up a fight, finding himself curling in his seat and falling asleep. His head resting against the window. His ears twitched feeling something run through his feathers. But he didn’t let it bother him, sleep claiming him quickly. When he woke again, it was Dominic gently shaking his shoulder. The sun was just beginning to set. The car was parked outside of a motel. The penguin already holding a key for one of the rooms.

“...I thought ya were gonna wake me when we were gonna switch.” Amos muttered.

“You know that was wishful thinking that you would be okay to drive. Come on.”

They shuffled into the room and claimed their own bed. It was a simple room, with only the basic needs and nothing added in the way of decor. Both directors just happy that it was actually clean. As they laid there that familiar awkwardness settled in between them once again.

Normally, Amos would have claimed space in the ice filled tub. Letting himself embrace the cold to keep the flames at bay. Now, however, he didn’t feel the fire attempting to release itself. Amos didn’t need the ice nor did he want to sleep, too uncomfortable to relax. So, here he was. Sitting across from an exhausted looking penguin that went from being a rival to someone Amos needed to rely on to survive.

“So…” Amos hated how quiet it was. Not even the neighbors were making any sounds.

“We’ll need to find an ATM tomorrow,” Dominic answered, “Keep using money to keep our trail as cold as possible.”

“Won’t usin’ the machine call attention to us?”

“I really hope not. But we’ll need to take the risk in order to make sure we have enough.”

“Fair point… How much do we have now?”

Dominic pulled his wallet out. “I have...32 dollars. You?”

“Even 40…” Amos pulled the phone’s directory towards him, giving it a glance before grabbing the phone. “Ya aren’t allergic to anything, right?”

“Right.”

“I’m in the mood for pizza.”

“...You know what, sure. That sounds good.”

“What do ya want.”

“Anchovies.”

Amos visibly blanched at that answer. "Of course.”

“Oh, and what are you going to have, Mr. Connoisseur.”

“...Pineapple and ham.”

Letting out a laugh, Dominic shook his head. “Well then. Aren’t we just two special cases.”

“Hush. Ya want a drink.”

“Yes, please. Do you think they have bread sticks?”

“Hold yer horses!” Amos laughed weakly, “How much money do ya think we have?”

“Enough for bread sticks.”

Amos fully laughed at that, Dominic joining in with his own chuckles. “Fine, we can get yer peckin’ bread sticks. Ya needy bird.”

“Just for that, I’m not sharing.” The penguin playfully huffed. He grabbed the remote, turning on the television and started flipping through the channels.

Amos merely rolled his eyes as he ordered. As they waited, they found a channel playing classic movies, each taking turns telling small stories from their childhood. The rest of the evening was spent reminiscing on their personal favorite movies and shows. Lazily eating away at their carb heavy meal. It was rolling close to midnight when Amos passed out.

Even with how exhausted he felt, stomach full and feeling warm, Dominic couldn’t follow the owl’s example. His mind was still buzzing with the thoughts and fears that had combined from the beginning of this trip. He honestly felt as if he was living in one of his movies. Except with a lot less music, which was discouraging. Someone, a government agency apparently, wanted Amos gone. Like, completely gone. Because he was apparently ‘dangerous’. Became of some ability that Amos never asked to have.

Attempting to get comfortable, Dominic rolled onto his side facing Amos. Without the constant pile of ice that hid him, Dominic was able to get a better look at the passed out owl. Which was honestly amazing with how much Amos had slept that day.

He had kicked the sheet and comforter away. Creating a sort of half nest of fabric around him. Amos himself was curled into a ball, arms covering his face. His top leg occasionally twitches in his sleep. A soft ‘thump’ was heard from time to time, Dominic realizing it was Amos’ tail moving. The penguin could only hope that the other director’s sleep was peaceful.

Dominic let out a slow sigh as he watched Amos sleep. This trip was supposed to be easy. A way to help Amos relax and not have to stress so much over what was happening to him. Now, they had an unwanted parasite following them around as a constant reminder of Amos’ affliction. And it angered Dominic. He was stressed, Amos was stressed, and this was a situation neither of them saw arising. They needed a break. A vacation away from their ‘vacation’. Just time to sit back and breathe.

He wasn’t sure when he started to drift off, his mind was still racing with how to make this better. But as the clock hit midnight, Dominic fell asleep. The answer he was looking for appeared a few days later.

“Amos, look!”

The owl was pulled from his thoughts as Dominic’s excited call. “Hmm, what?”

“We’re coming up on a fair!”

Amos frowned and turned his attention back out the window. Sure enough, there were signs lining along the side of the road. A large structure seen off in the distance.

“And? What do ya want ta do about that?”

“Aren’t you curious? A small town fair, it could be fun!”

“I- what? Did ya forget, we’re kind of on the run?”

“And we’ve been on the move for two days without incident. I’m stressed. You’re stressed. Let’s go enjoy ourselves!”

“Are ya crazy?”

“When was the last time you went to something like this?”

Amos squirmed in his seat. “Never.”

“What?”

“Never been ta one. Ma didn’t have the money and now I don’t have the time.”

“Well, now we’re making time.” Dominic answered simply as he pulled into the field that was functioning as the parking lot.

“Are ya serious? You’ve lost it! We’ll stick out like a sore thumb here!”

“In the middle of absolute nowhere, who’s going to care?”

“As a Moon Penguin and a deformed owl, two species of birds that don’t live anywhere near here? Yes, people are going to care!” Amos sank further into his seat as they parked. “Dominic!”

“Come on Darling, I want to have a day to look back on this crazy trip and enjoy something about it. And not just think about the chaos that was brought from this.”

“The pizza last night wasn't enough?” The side look with the raised brow was enough of a ‘No.’ that Amos fell quiet. He remained quiet and allowed himself to be pulled from the car. Ears flat as they joined the cue to purchase tickets, eventually joining the fair crowd.

It was loud. Children screaming with glee as they rushed from attraction to attraction, parents frantically following. Mechanical noises from the nearby rides and vendors created a cacophony of bangs, whistles, and screeching metal. Beings of different sizes and species shouting at each other trying to be heard over the noise. The smell in the air was a mix of grease and sugar.

“What do you want to do first?” The penguin looked around.

“Ya pulled be in here.” Amos growled, ears still down in disagreement.

“Conductor, Darling, this is for us to both enjoy! And you’ve never been to one of these, so you need to get the full experience. Meaning, you need to pick what we do first.”

“What I need is for us ta get movin’.”

“Let’s start with the food then.”

“Are ya even listenin’ ta me?” Amos snapped as Dominic merely walked into the crowd. Following without much choice and not wanting to be left behind, Amos huffed as he started after the penguin.

It was as a plate of fried dough topped with powdered sugar was pushed into his hands did Amos really start to question what was happening. While the penguin was known as the more social director out of the two, this still seemed a little out of character. Dominic wasn’t one to push problems away. And they were in the middle of a rather large problem. So why would he very blatantly act as if they were on some sort of actual vacation?

Lost to his confusion, Amos didn’t put up protest as he was pulled along. Dominic more than happy to take the lead through the different fair activities. Seeming to hit every one of his favorite spots that brought up a different childhood memory.

They were always doing something. Eating, taking in the sights, on a ride, conversing. Amos even forgetting a few times that they were supposed to be on the run. That his clock might be counting down to his final breath.

Then, it hit him. As they were exiting the ‘haunted house’, laughing hard at the terrible acting and Dominic started in on another story, that Amos realized he was relaxing. Even more so, he felt...happy. Nothing like when he was caring for his family or winning another award. It was as if he was content with just being himself for a while. A feeling Amos couldn’t remember having for a long time, if ever.

All because Dominic had demanded that they stop.

The penguin was unaware of the look of absolute adoration the owl held for him as they entered into the gaming area.

“Do you feel skilled enough to take these on?”

Amos was pulled from his stupor when Dominic gestured to the line of booths holding numerous carnival games. “Nah, I know better. I’ve heard how these games are rigged ta make ya lose.”

“Oh, such an owl of little faith.”

Amos raised his brow as Dominic made his way towards the nearest booth. Giving a shrug, the owl merely followed, joining the other as the penguin paid to play. The booth had it’s back wall filled with small, inflated balloons. The attendant handed over a bundle of five darts before standing to the side, hiding among the plushies that lined the side.

“Are ya tring’ ta prove somethin’?”

“Possibly. Now hush and watch.”

Letting out a snort, Amos leaned against the booth to watch the display. Holding one of the five given darts, Dominic cautiously took aim. The owl was planning on making some smart comment when the first dart was let loose. Fully expecting for it to be ‘a swing and a miss’. Only to have a resounding ‘Pop!’ as the dart hit it’s intended target.

“Ooo, one of five. Amazin’.” Amos recovered quickly, smirking seeing Dominic’s face go sour.

“Just keep quiet.”

He would never admit it, but Amos was impressed. Even more so when Dominic actually won two more rounds.

“Wonderfully done sir!” The booth runner said with a wide smile on his face. “Feeling lucky?”

“Absolutely Darling.”

“If you win one more round, I’ll let you pick one prize from the very top row. The best of the best I have to offer.”

“Well, how could I refuse such a challenge. I’ll happily accept.”

“Okay, now yer gonna lose it.” Amos remarked.

“Would you just let me enjoy myself.”

“Fine, don’t grumble to me when ya lose.” The owl stumbled slightly when Dominic hip bumped him. “Watch it.”

“You watch it.” Dominic countered before getting back to the task at hand. It seemed even the small crowd of people couldn’t distract the penguin as he held another clean sweep.

“Very impressive!” The booth attended called out, starting out the round of applause from the crowd. “Wonderful show, good show! Go ahead and claim your prize.”

“You impressed?” Dominic leaned over to Amos as he gestured to the stuffed plushie he wanted.

“That ya were able to cheat the already cheatin’ system? Sure, if it make ya feel better.” Replied Amos with a smirk.

“I’ll still count it as a victory then. Here.”

The owl was surprised when the won plushie was trusted into his hands. It was a star shaped pillow. The fabric was fuzzy, Amos running his hand along it, the texture soft. Realizing it felt similar to Dominic’s feathers. The design of said fabric was that of space. Inky black with swirls of pink, purple, and blue creating a galaxy. Spots of white designed to be the stars dotting the sky.

“Sorry, does it hit kind of close? We can exchange it.”

Amos realized he’d remained shocked and silent, hand resting on the pillow. “Ah, no, it’s fine. I want ta keep it. Thank ya…”

“No one’s given me anything before.”

Why was his heart beating so fast?

Dominic smiled (which did not help Amos’ already frantically beating heart) and led the other away from the booth. “It’s a sort of some unspoken law that you need to leave the fair with at least one tacky item.”

“It’s not tacky.” Amos quickly defended, startling the penguin.

“...I’m happy you like it.”

“So...now what do we do?”

“We have one more task to complete before we can leave.”

“Alright. Ya lead the way then.”

With the plush tucked into the crook of his arm, Amos helped in carrying the feast of food Dominic started buying. They departed the fairgrounds proper, arms filled with food, as the sun began to set. Dominic led the way up a nearby hill and only stopped when they reached the very top. The penguin set up the food in a sort of circle, all within reach for both birds to enjoy.

The sun had almost disappeared behind the horizon when they finally finished eating. Amos lying on his back, stomach full with the plush resting on his chest. Dominic was next to him, eyes scanning the sky.

“Shouldn’t we be leavin’?” The owl asked.

“We well. We’re just waiting for the final event.”

“Havin’ us gain 10 pounds wasn’t the final thin’ ta check off?”

Dominic laughed. “No. This was just a last hurrah of fair food until next year. But...it’s probably dark enough for it to start.”

“It?”

“The show, Darling.”

Amos’ question fell away as a familiar sound filled the sky before a firework went off. Painting the sky and ground a vibrant red. Now, Amos had seen fireworks before. But only on set. As props for his latest movie he would have been working on. Watching them without having to set it up, or worry about something going wrong, it was far more enjoyable. Amos even sat up as he became further engrossed with the show.

He felt Dominic shift next to him, sitting up as well, the penguin shuffling closer. Amos didn’t argue as he was gently pulled to lean against the other. An arm casually wrapping around Amos’ waist comfortably.

Dominic smiled seeing Amos’ tail swaying, ruffling the grass it was resting on.

It was worth delaying their travels for this moment of peace.

“Thanks Dominic…”

“...You’re welcome Sweetheart.”

#A Hat In Time #discotrain #the conductor #dj grooves #s-creations #fanfiction #ahit conductor #ahit dj grooves #Multi-Chapter

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