#it was brought up today with some cryptic stuff from the man himself | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

filipinoizukuu · 4 years ago

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Pls share about the Gospel of Judas 👀

, im SO glad someone asked because this topic is nigh always pingponging around in my head and the fact i get to ramble about it means the WORLD to me. TW ahead for canon-typical violence, gore, and other such discussions of all that fun heretical stuff!

Now, to preface this, I just wanted to say that I’m not a licensed professional in anything related to theology nor religion nor historical artifacts. I am. as we all are deep down inside, a simple teenager with ridiculous hyper-fixations and a vast ocean of random information that will not be of any importance to my career or home life whatsoever. Easily, many of the things I talk about could either be wrong or debunked, but I will try my best to explain the Book of Judas as I understood it.

Among the many books that make up what we know as the Bible today, there were various seemingly ‘missing perspectives’ and inconsistencies that existed between gospels. One of the reasons for this was the fact that the Bible in and of itself was a compiled work that was originally recorded years after the oral tradition had passed. What is or isn’t ‘canon’ often depended on the rulings of past Popes who worked with historians to determine the authenticity of ancient artifacts that either proved or contested the canonical teachings of the Bible--one of the more popular debunked samples being The Shroud of Turin, which while being ruled as a fake by Pope Clement the VII a long time ago, still has its authenticity being debated until today.

It’s important to remember that the canon status of ancient artifacts. while somewhat reliant on Papal confirmation, can sometimes be contested and interpreted to each individual’s discretion.

And among all of these artifacts, there is my favorite one of all--The Book of Judas. Now, factually speaking, the Gospel of Judas was written in (somewhere between 2 to) 5 A.D., not actually that farfetched considering that only in 1 A.D. was the first version of the Bible we know today written. It was found somewhere in Ancient Egypt but was declared as fiction at some point in 180 A.D. by St. Iranaeus of Lyon. To understand the impact that The Book of Judas would have on the Bible (which, to put it simply, was revolutionary), you’d first have to have a quick review and understanding of who Judas Iscariot was in the gospels that we know today.

Judas was a disciple.

He was one of the 12 disciples that were closest to Jesus and a disciple that most accounts of the story would say actually truly deeply loved him at some point. Judas was, as all memes about Christianity are fond of reminding, also the traitor that eventually chose money and greed over his love for God’s son and turned him in with a kiss in a garden that led to Jesus Christ’s death at the cross.

That is until you read the translations of the Book of Judas.

In the original books--whether it was because he was possessed by the Devil or simply a man who had fallen into greed--Judas was portrayed to be a sinner and a horrible traitor. After his betrayal and Jesus’ eventual death, Judas had then become guilt-ridden and anguished, choosing to end his own life in the Gospel of Matthew and even tarnishing a field with his blood and sins according to St. Luke in Acts.

The Book of Judas, however, CHALLENGES these motives. Instead, it takes what brought all past Christian texts together by changing the portrayal of Judas on its head and putting the previous ‘traitor’ under the light of something else entirely.

According to the Book of Judas, Jesus had asked Judas to betray him.

The 26-page manuscript was a brief retelling of the dynamics we were lead to believe in the story told by the main four books. In the Book of Judas, we were told that the original other 12 disciples were actually quite... foolish. They were described to be sort of arrogant and clueless, constantly misinterpreting and forgetting Jesus’ words because while he was teaching them to be better and to spread the words of God, the disciples were still, at their core, human sinners. The manuscript was believed to have reported that of the disciples that were closest, or at least best tolerated by Jesus--Judas was by far the most understanding of His words.

Judas, in accordance with his book, was the only one who could understand the significance and cryptic lessons behind Jesus’ teachings. Because of this, Jesus knew he was the only capable one to serve him in what was to come.

You see, part of the prophecy was that Jesus had to die. He had to suffer and fall for humanity’s sake so that we would be able to be forgiven. As much as it sucks to even think about it, Jesus had come to expect that someone would need to cause his death and hurt him all so that he could fulfill his purpose.

In the end, he thought that death by the hand of an enemy was far worse than a death at the hands of a friend.

During the Last Supper, Jesus approached Judas and placed him into a vision. He placed Judas in a fantastical, wonderful dream where Judas sat facing the house of heaven and saw Jesus. Jesus, who looked at his beloved friend and said: “you will exceed all of them. For you will sacrifice the man that clothes me.” Judas will exceed all of them. And he will sacrifice the man that clothed Jesus.

In this interpretation, Judas was essentially told that he was the one who would finally free Jesus from his physical form. Judas, the supposed traitor disciple, would be the one to fulfill Jesus’ prophecy and thus sacrificed his beloved friend to bring about forgiveness for humanity.

And he understands.

In this manuscript, Judas Iscariot understands the will of God and what he has to do. He understands the weight of his betrayal and what he has to do in order to obey Jesus--so then it isn’t money or fear or anger or evil that motivates him to surrender Jesus to the soldiers but utter obedience and adoration for the Son of God. Judas gives his ‘yes’, knowing that for years and years he will be slandered and labeled as a traitor but at his core, Judas knows that it was not a betrayal to begin with.

So he led the soldiers to Jesus in the garden. He kissed him and let him be taken away and let him die.

This was the official translation approved by BBC and National Geographic according to the original translations done by Stephen Emmel, a Coptic studies professional.

Later on, this interpretation would be challenged by Dr. April DeConick, who claims that the mistreatment and mistranslation of the paper actually told the complete opposite, in the way that the revelation in the Last Supper was not created by Jesus but, in fact, by Judas, who had revealed himself to be the 13th demon of hell. This interpretation, while less popular, served as a direct challenge to the recharacterization BBC and NatGeo had approved of. I don’t really know too much about this debate, but I do know that this second interpretation does exist.

Of course, the original Judas text itself is currently impossible to truly translate to be sure. It was torn and shuffled, put into a freezer, and possibly even missing a few pages (which you can blame Bruce Ferinni for), ultimately making the authentic manuscript really difficult to properly restore.

The takeaway from this whole Book though--whether you accept it as canon or not--is that there were many interpretations and beliefs early Christians and Gnostics had that the time that criticized the way the four main gospels had passed down God’s teachings. People believed what they thought supported their own beliefs and at the end of the day. it's all still just a matter of who we choose to credit.

The real author to the Book of Judas remains anonymous to this day, but I am very glad to have been able to share this with you all :)

not proofread since i did this at like 4 am | x x x

#tw long post #long post tw #gospel of judas #christianity

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stardustedangel · 4 years ago

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Matchmaker

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pairing || steve rogers x fem!reader

word count || 2.5k

summary || ever since bucky met you at your cafe he knew you would be perfect for steve. after telling the both of you about eachother for a few weeks, he decides it’s finally time for you both to meet.

warnings || a few curse words

author’s note || hii this is my first fic so I hope you enjoy reading it :) reblogs and comments are appreciated <3 ; do not repost my work

*gif does not belong to me*

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The ring of the door’s bell alerted you that someone had entered your cafe. You set your piping bag down and tried to unfurrow the deep crease that was set between your brows from concentration. You wiped your hands off on your apron and quickly hurried to the front counter to take the customer’s order. When you saw who was at the counter as you approached, a smile graced your face seeing it was your favorite customer.

“Bucky! I knew you wouldn’t be able to stay away from our coffee for too long,” you teased Bucky.

“Doll, the stuff you guys make here is too addicting. And I thought you would want to hear more about Stevie.”

You laughed at this and playfully rolled your eyes. Ever since Bucky first came into your cafe he decided it would be a great time to not only start a coffee addiction, but also attempt to set you up with his friend “Steve”. Have you seen this Steve? No. Did Bucky bringing him up bother you? Of course not. Were you interested in finally meeting Steve after all Bucky has said? Definitely. A big, definite yes.

“Ah, are there any more details of the perfect “Steve” that I need to be aware of,” you said brightly as you wrote his order on a cup and passed it to another barista.

“Well, I’ve told you pretty much all that could be said by me, so I thought that he could finally tell you about him yourself.”

“So this is the second step of your master plan I suppose,” you laughed and mirrored him by moving to the side counter where he would wait for his drink, “well you know I’m game Mr. Barnes.”

“Well you’ll see him soon and that’s all I’m saying about that,” Bucky shot you a smug grin and attempted to grab his coffee before you smacked his hand away.

“Ow- what?”

“I don’t like when you speak all cryptic.”

“You act like I do it a lot,” he scoffed playfully.

“Touché Bucky, touché”

Your eyes were narrowed at him as you turned around and went to the back taking his coffee with you. You grabbed a quick sharpie and wrote something on his cup and grabbed a few of the cupcakes you previously iced, placing them into a box. You went back out, smirking at Bucky’s confused face. You handed him both his drink and the box.

Bucky looked at the cup and laughed at what you had written.

Fuck you.

He opened the box you gave him and laughed.

“How are you gonna give me this cup that says “Fuck you” but then give me these?”

“I’m giving you them so you're indebted to me, meaning you won’t do anything sneaky,” you batted your eyelashes, “and you like those the last time you had them, so there! Now leave. In a non cryptic, non-secretive manner.”

Bucky ignored what you had said and instead started to plan his next move. Getting his best pal and best girl together was going to be the greatest gift he could give either of them. And boy would the ego boost be good when you both thanked him later on. With those thoughts he gave you a boyish grin before stalking over to the front door.

“I’ll see you later Y/N.”

“Bucky! Don’t do anything stupid.”

“Can’t promise you that,” he turned back with a wink before finally going out the door.

Well fuck.

It only took Bucky 10 minutes to get back to the tower since your cafe was only a few blocks away. He went to the kitchen setting the box of cupcakes down before grabbing himself one. He couldn’t hear the sound of steps approaching him over his moaning as the delicious chocolate taste coated his mouth.

“I feel like you’re enjoying that a little too much, Buck.”

Bucky turned to his right seeing a sweaty Steve reach into the fridge pulling out an ice cold water bottle. He downed it in a few seconds and approached Bucky. He looked into the box of chocolate cupcakes before pulling one out.

“Where did you get these from?” Steve inspected the cupcake before taking a big bite out of one. His eyes widened at how good the cupcake was.

“I can see why you moaned now.”

Bucky smirked before replying, “A very, very special gal made those. I bet you can guess who.”

The thought made Steve smile. Of course he knew you made them. After hearing about not only how talented you are, but also how sweet and funny you seemed, Steve quickly became enamored. He’s been wanting Bucky to drag him to your cafe so you two could finally meet, or maybe he’d even go there by himself and try to save himself from Bucky’s “I told you so”, but he’s either been too nervous or the timing was never right. But god, the thought of you made heat rise to his face and stomach do flips. He hasn’t felt this way in a long time and he liked the feeling.

“So Y/N made these, huh? How is she by the way? Just asking cause you know, I can.”

The way that Steve was awkwardly trying to get Bucky to talk about you made Bucky smirk at Steve. He crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes playfully at Steve.

“What? You talk about her all the time and you expect me to just not ask about her,” Steve asked exasperated as he annoyingly grabbed another cupcake shoving it in his mouth.

“Well speaking of Y/N, we’re going to her cafe tomorrow so you should be up bright and early,” Bucky said as he clasped his hand on Steve’s shoulder slightly shaking him.

Steve’s eyes widened and he cleared his throat, “Tomorrow? As in Saturday tomorrow? Does she even know.”

“Well what she doesn’t know won’t kill her. Are you saying you don’t want to meet her,” Bucky asked though he already knew the answer.

“Of course not! I’ve been dying to meet her since you brought her up. So you can,” Steve paused for a second seeing Bucky’s smirk on his face growing wider and even more smug, “You can wipe that smug look off your face and I’ll see you later.”

“Aw you don’t want to braid each other's hair and talk all about Y/N,” Bucky teased Steve as Steve walked away from the kitchen heading towards his room.

“Bye Buck,” Steve waved over his shoulder.

Steve had more important things to do today. Such as letting Y/N consume his every thought until he got to finally see her tomorrow.

Saturday.

A day that Steve couldn’t have been more excited for, for obvious reasons, and a day that you always dreaded.

Because you didn’t know that you would be seeing Steve, you trudged your way to your cafe, saying a hello to the other workers before setting your stuff down and getting ready for a day of hell.

Saturday’s weren’t only busy customer wise, but also because you baked every hour of the day. You only took a few breaks for lunch and so your hand wouldn’t end up falling off.

With the help of a few other co-workers, you guys got started on making batter while others tended to customers at the front. You wished this day could be over as quick as possible.

Steve on the other hand was feeling nervous. A good kind of nervous. If that was a thing. Though Bucky wasn’t making him feel any less nervous with his constant pestering like a worried mother.

“Are you sure you want to wear that,” Bucky questioned leaning against Steve’s door frame.

Steve looked down at his outfit: he decided on just wearing some jeans, a white t-shirt, and a jacket over it. He held his arms out in a confused fashion as his eyebrows furrowed.

“What do you expect me to wear then?”

“I think you look great pal, I was just making sure you thought you looked great. Since this is a pretty important day.”

Important wouldn’t even begin to describe how both Steve and Bucky felt about this day. They were both happy that Steve was finally meeting someone that they both thought could be good for him. Sure everything Steve has heard has been word of mouth, but his hopes were high and he knew they wouldn’t be crushed. Bucky knew this too. Exactly why he was so excited.

Bucky came up behind Steve, clasping him on his shoulder, “You ready to go Stevie?”

He nodded his head and grabbed his phone and wallet before he left his room behind Bucky.

As ready as he’ll ever be.

You had pieces of hair falling around and framing your face as your ponytail was getting looser and looser as the morning went on. You had some flour on your cheek and apron showing how the first few hours of the day have been treating you.

You were taking a couple of cake pans out the oven and setting them on the baking rack to cool off before you can ice them. Right when you were taking off your oven mitts, a worker walked into the back addressing you.

“Hey Y/N, there’s a guy in the front who says he’s looking for you,” they gestured towards the front and went back to the counter.

You furrowed your brows in confusion and thought of who could be looking for you. You could only think of Bucky and with that you carelessly took yourself out the back, looking a mess. It was just Bucky though right?

Wrong. You were very wrong. You first noticed Bucky and because you were tired, your focus was only on him for the time.

“Bucky! You usually don’t come in on Saturdays,” you rounded the counter to come face to face with him.

“Yeah I know, but I thought it would be a great time for you to meet Stevie,” Bucky said with a shit-eating grin.

You could barely process what he said as he grabbed the tall, blonde man behind him and placed him in front of you. Your eyes widened when you realized just who was in front of you.

Steve. The Steve. The Steve that you were thinking about daily. His piercing blue eyes started back at yours. You found yourself wondering his face in the one second that seemed to feel like an hour. He had rose pink lips that looked a little swollen on the bottom. Maybe a nervous habit he had? His face and build reminded you of a Greek god statue. He had blonde hair that shined slightly with the help from the light piercing through the windows. And he was tall. Taller than any man you’ve ever met that to fully look him in the eye, you needed to tilt your head up at him. You didn’t think you could ever get tired of looking at him.

“Hello,” he said so kindly and he gave you a smile that made you weak in your knees.

You were thinking about how good he looked and how good he sounded that you didn’t even think about how you looked. That was until that one stretched out second ended.

You slapped your hands over your face attempting to hide how bad you looked. You heard Bucky snicker at your antics and Steve laughed lightly. You couldn’t believe Bucky. He just had to bring in Steve when you looked your worst. You felt so embarrassed that the first time you were meeting Steve you looked like a mess. Your voice came out muffled from beneath your hands as you spoke.

“I’m so sorry you have to see me like this. I look a mess and I really didn’t want you to see me like this. It’s just that it’s Saturday which is baking day, but everyday is baking day but it’s just so hectic and I’m just-”.

Steve cut your rambling off when he pulled your hands away from your face. You looked up at him with big doe eyes and a pout on your lips that Steve wanted to kiss away. He felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest. Here you finally were standing in front of him. In all your gorgeous glory. And frankly, you were even more gorgeous than Bucky described. Your eyes seemed to sparkle and you almost glowed. It was like he was seeing an angel for the first time.

Steve put your arms down and brought his right hand to wipe some flour off of your left cheek. He then pushed some of your flyaways out of your face so he could see even more of you. His eyes were roaming your face until he made direct eye contact.

“You’re gorgeous, Y/N. Seriously.” Steve’s hands left your face when he took a small step back to put his hand out.

“I’m Steve. You already know that though,” Steve laughed and you giggled taking his hand.

“I’m Y/N.”

You and Steve just stared at each other with stupid love sick smiles on your face while slowly shaking each other’s hands. Bucky cleared his throat loudly, gaining the attention of the both of you. You narrowed your eyes a little at him and an angry pout found its way to your lips.

“You should’ve told me yesterday you were coming in today, traitor. Look at me,” you gestured to the Saturday mess that was you.

“Sorry, doll. But this was the perfect time to see you. And now you both can thank me so c’mon. Shower me with love.”

You and Steve just looked at him blankly before Steve turned to you. When your gaze met his, your face instantly lit up like a Christmas tree.

“If you’re free for lunch, I’d love to get to know you more,” Steve asked with a charming smile on his face.

“I can take my break right now so I’ll be all yours.” You saw from the corner of your eye that Bucky was smirking at the both of you.

“And you sir, can leave,” you grabbed Bucky’s sleeve dragging him towards the door. A few customers and workers were looking at this and laughing to themselves. Bucky looked at Steve over his shoulder and winked. Steve replied with a thankful smile.

“You know you’re happy that this happened,” Bucky teased as you leaned against the door frame narrowing your eyes playfully at him.

You pushed him out, but not before giving him the bright, grateful smile. You mouthed a “thank you” to him and Bucky smiled back and you returned back inside to Steve wanting to make your thirty minute break the best one it could be. Maybe you couldn’t hate Saturday’s as much as you did before, in fact, maybe they would become your favorite day of the week.

You and Steve grabbed a table. What you both didn’t know is that Bucky watched you guys for the first few minutes from outside and what he could see was better than what he was expecting. Steve was making you double over in laughter and the first couple of seconds and the smile that was on Steve’s face was the biggest that Bucky had ever seen in a long time. He was happy that he got two of the best people that he knew together. Who knew Bucky Barnes would end up being matchmaker of the century?

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#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers #steve rogers oneshot #steve rogers one shot #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers imagines #captain america x reader #captain america oneshot #marvel #marvel fluff #༊‧₊˚. dest writes

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yelena-bellova · 4 years ago

Text

Don’t Be Afraid: Poe Dameron x Solo!Reader - Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Twenty One: Old Friends

Series Masterlist

Plot: Y/n and Poe pay a visit to Maz Kanata, but don’t find what they expect to.

Warnings: maybe one curse word

Word Count: 6.1k

A/N: This day has been...a day...and I almost didn’t get this one out because of how long it took me to edit. There’s so much dialogue in these chapters that can’t be cut (especially about planets created for Resistance Reborn lol) so sometimes I feel like it’s a bit messy. Anyways, hope you enjoy!

————

“Y/n. Sweetheart, wake up.”

I groggily moaned as I forced my eyes open, blinking a couple times till my vision was clear. I hadn’t intended to fall asleep but as soon as Poe had said it was going to be a while till we arrived at our destination, I was out like a light. We were flying a one man ship so I’d inevitably ended up sitting on Poe’s lap, the sound of his heartbeat had soothed me to sleep.

“We’re coming into the atmosphere,” he announced.

“Good,” I yawned, “Anything from the Falcon?”

Poe shook his head, “Nothing yet.”  “Wow,” I breathed as I took a look at the planet we were approaching, “That’s Ephemera, huh?”  It’s beautiful, Bee commented.

“It is beautiful,” Poe replied, bringing one hand off the controls to squeeze my thigh affectionately.

What kind of planet is it?  “It was once a mining planet, like Bespin. But here they mined the tibanna gas to extinction.” Poe explained to the droid, “After it was all gone, the Empire abandoned its colonies and most of the settlers ran with them. Good riddance, from what I hear. It left the planet back in the hands of its original inhabitants and a few holdouts who weren’t there just to cash in but had grown to love the place. And then, surprise, they discovered tuusah.”

“What’s tuusah?” I asked, still admiring the colors of the planet.  “Residue from the mine runoff. Turns out tuusah has medicinal properties, so a new industry was born. Maybe it wasn’t as lucrative as the Empire’s strip mining, but it was a heck of a lot kinder to the planet’s flora and fauna.”

When were they ever kind?  “You’re right,” he said. “The Empire has never been kind. But the planet is a resort destination now, and the capital is called Wish. What a name, right? It used to be Outpost 665 or something boring like that. But now? Wish. It’s one of the largest spas in the galaxy. All kinds of mineral baths and healing treatments and some kind of legendary oxide therapy that’s supposed to make you look younger.”

Poe and I had both seen our share of the galaxy and anytime we’d go on missions together, we’d get into a debate of who knew more about the planet’s history. Once we knew where we’d be going, we’d both usually try to cram as many facts into our heads in an attempt to outsmart the other.

“What?” he chuckled as he caught me staring at him.

“Nothing,” I grinned, “Just enjoying the lecture, Professor Dameron. When’d you find time to study?”

Poe’s lips tugged upwards into a small smirk, “Doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’ve got nothing.”  They don’t have any treatments for droids, right?  “I think you’re safe. Bee,” I laughed, “We’re not here for facials, we’re here for Maz.”  Poe flew us through the pastel clouds of the planet, it was absolutely gorgeous. I wouldn’t have minded coming back at some point. But the thought of visiting planets purely for recreation seemed like a distant dream. Maybe one day Poe and I could vacation somewhere but for now, our trips were centered on war.

A transmission came in from the landing strip.

“Welcome to Ephemera airspace,” came from a breathy, zen-like voice, “Please identify yourself so that we can grant you landing clearance.”  “This is…” Poe hesitated in giving his name, we hadn’t thought whether or not we should’ve been using aliases. Was it likely that the First Order was hiding out on a planet known for their spa facilities? No. But being cautious never hurt anyone, especially people in our situation.

“Poe Dameron, is that you?” a familiar voice came through, “Oh, give me that mike, dear, I can take it from here.” There were more muffled protests on the other side, leaving us confused.  “Maz?” Poe called.

“What? Of course it’s me, you fool. Who else would have asked you to this backwater?”  “Maz, is everything all right?” I asked.  “Baby Solo! Your boyfriend didn’t tell me you were coming too!” she cried happily, putting heavy emphasis on the word ’boyfriend’.

“Yeah, it sounded like something was going on.” I replied.

“Bah. Just some people getting a little possessive with the equipment. Nothing to concern yourself with. I’ve handled it. Now hurry up. I haven’t got all day.”

Poe furrowed his brows as we looked for a place to park, “Uh, I’d be happy to land, but I don’t see anything that looks like it’ll hold the ship up. Am I in the right place?”

“Oh, you’re right. Isn’t that funny? Some kind of security measure, the locals assure me, but really I think they’re just partial to the undulation.”

“Undulation?” I repeated.

“You’ll see. Everything here sways a bit. Now...let me...”

It took a moment of hearing various sounds on Maz’s end before one of the platforms solidified before our eyes.

“What in the...?” Poe mumbled to himself.

“It’s perfectly safe, Dameron.” Maz assured, “Now are you going to land or not? I thought you were on urgent Resistance business.”

I shook my head in disbelief, only Maz could have picked a place like this. “Copy,” I said. “We’ll see you in a few minutes.”

“Good, good. See you soon. Oh, are you hungry? Have you two eaten? I should have food brought up, shouldn’t I? I’ll have to ask them to prepare something special unless...you don’t have time for a psychedelic experience do you?”

Poe chortled at the question, “Not today, Maz. Like you said, urgent business.”

We landed on the, surprisingly stable, platform Maz had formed for us and headed into the grand looking facility. For all my years of knowing Maz, I still sometimes didn’t understand her. Her connections spanned across the galaxy and back, she knew everybody from beggars on the streets to political diplomats. She had eyes everywhere even if she didn’t move around all that much. Out of all the people the Resistance was seeking aide from, I had no doubt that Maz could probably help us the most.

————

“I’m not helping you with anything,” Maz said, adjusting her goggles to see us clearer. Our faces were nothing sort of shocked. “If you recall, last time I stuck my neck out for the Resistance, the First Order destroyed my castle. Do you know how much I loved that castle?”

“I know, it was spectacular.” I replied, memories of that day flooding back.

“The best. Do you know how long I had had it?”

“A thousand years?” Poe offered.

“A thou...” Max paused, and shot daggers at Poe, who offered her a playful smile in return, “Longer than you’ve been around, flyboy, that’s for sure. So don’t sniff at me like I’m being unreasonable.”

Maz put her hands in a bowl of colorful thick goop and pulled out a handful. It reeked something awful but she didn’t seem to mind as she offered us some, “You want?”

“No, we’re fine.” Poe answered for both of us, my face was scrunched up in disgust at the odor.

Here we were, sitting on lounge chairs inside one of Wish’s day spas putting everything out on the line. And here Maz was refusing to help us. She was perfectly content to sit with her feet soaking in mud and having attendants bring her various teas. She hummed as she rubbed the gelatinous stuff into her face without a care in the world when Poe and I bore the fate of the galaxy on our shoulders.

“What is that stuff? It smells horrid.” I commented, taking another whiff of the air and immediately regretting it.

“Feline poop.” Maz answered casually, “From some species that’s lived here so long that it’s practically native to the planet. Imagine. A planet with no solid ground but plenty of cats. The story is that the founder of Ephemera was a Rothkahar philosopher. He domesticated this species because he thought them of advanced intelligence...or maybe they domesticated him. I forget. Anyway, later on, he found that their excrement had healing properties. High concentrations of tibanna gas, naturally processed into tuusah. Does wonders for the skin.”

Rubbing animal feces into your body to achieve better looking skin. Sure. Totally normal.

“That’s great, Maz,” Poe said, changing the topic quickly, “But can we get back to the topic at hand? The Resistance needs your help.”

“Yes, you told me.”

“We need a place to hide and regroup. It needs to be outside of prying First Order eyes but able to handle our needs for housing, supplies, communications...” Poe explained.

“Didn’t you say there were only a handful of you left on a single ship? What needs could you have?” she replied.

Poe and I glanced over to each other, surprised at how insensitive she sounded. This wasn’t the Maz I knew.

“There’s going to be more,” I pointed out, “The Resistance is scattered across the galaxy and we’re going to continue to grow. We need shelter but we also need people like you. Leia was the only member of our leadership that survived, we need your help in leading the Resistance.”  “Lead the Resistance?” Maz’s eyes moved suspiciously between Poe and I, “I thought that was your job.”

“We…” Poe began, biting his tongue almost immediately. Very few knew about our demotions but we wore shame as if the whole galaxy mocked us.

“Expecting me to do your job for you?” Maz grumbled with a humorless laugh, “You two are the commanders in the room. Or has that changed?”

“Nothing’s changed,” Poe replied quickly, causing me to turn to him in confusion. Were we supposed to lie and cover up the fact that we’d lost our titles? Either way, Maz didn’t seem to care as she lay back in her lounger and closed her eyes. We waited for something, anything, to come out of her mouth. She always had some sort of unique and cryptic wisdom to offer. It was when light snores escaped her lips that it seemed like it was a hopeless cause.

Poe rose from his seat and offered me his hand, “This was a waste of time. We should go.”

“No!” Maz shouted suddenly, grabbing hold of his wrist. All of her trademark personality had left the one eye she had opened and she was dead serious. “Listen closely to me, Poe Dameron. You see me like this, and you think me a fool. Good for me, because when an enemy perceives you as foolish or weak, that is when they are most vulnerable in their arrogance. That is when you strike.”  Upon her last word, she yanked down on Poe’s hand and his feet went out from under him. He landed harshly on his back and had the wind knocked out of him on impact. I rose to help him up but Maz forcefully pushed me back onto my lounge chair with her other hand. She climbed off her seat and stepped onto Poe’s chest, bending over so that her face was almost touching his.

“I see arrogance in you. And that is what gets you in trouble, causes pain.” Maz observed before blindly pointing to me, “And fear in you. It’s controlled you all your life.”

I hated when Maz did this, or at least when it was directed at me. While my ego played a part in the mutiny, fear had been my main motive. Fear played a bigger part in my life than Maz even knew. It stopped me from picking up my lightsaber, it stopped me from telling people that I was Force sensitive, it delayed me from deciding to train as a Jedi…

“We learned our lesson,” Poe gritted out, still pinned down and I didn’t dare to help him.

“Have we?” Maz asked, looking between the two of us.

I struggled for words, I didn’t want to have to recount the events again. Especially to someone who could see right through me. The few times I’d slept since Crait had been filled with nightmares containing the transports exploding and the screams of my fallen comrades. Asleep or awake, I was being forced to relive my mistake constantly.

“You asked if we were still leaders,” Poe started, he could tell I was too wrapped in my thoughts to speak, “The truth is that I don’t know. W-We made some mistakes...”

“Mistakes?” Maz repeated.

“We led a mutiny,” I blurted out, the truth flowing from my lips quicker than I could manage. “We were being kept in the dark and didn’t trust the person in charge. I had just lost Dad and Mom was in a coma and I panicked, alright? I-I felt like I had to do something! I didn’t want anyone else to die and we ended up killing so many.”

“And did you?” Maz jutted her chin up as she looked at me, “Have to do something?”

 I blinked away the tears that filled my eyes, guilt rose in my chest as I thought of Holdo. Standing in the hanger as she watched our transports flee the Raddus, she had everything under control while I’d been scheming behind her back.

“No,” I trembled and ducked my head as if that would shield me from her vision.

“Dameron?” 

“No,” he said, “I’m a soldier and she was my commanding officer. All I had to do was trust.”

I peered up to see Maz plop down on Poe’s chest, a sight that should’ve amused me, but didn’t. The moment had drained me of every emotion that wasn’t sorrow or guilt.

“And now what?” she asked.

“What?” Poe said, his eyes rested on me to make sure I was relatively alright.

“Let’s say you’re right. That your actions, your arrogance, got many people killed. Led the Resistance to where they are now: broken, on the run, destitute, and begging for help.”

As I stayed silent, Poe spoke up, “We fix it.”

“How will you do that?” she asked. “You can’t bring the dead back. You can’t single-handedly rebuild the Resistance, although,” Maz snorted and looked between the two of us, “If anyone was going to try it would be you two.”  “I can bring down the First Order.” Poe answered.

“Alone?” Maz raised her eyebrows in amusement

“If I have to.”

She shook her head, “Arrogance. Still.” Maz adjusted her position so she was kneeling over him, “You know who else is arrogant? The First Order.”

“The First Order is evil, Maz, that’s not a fair comparison.” I stuck up for my boyfriend, sniffling after, “No one knows that better than me.”

Maz adjusted her goggles again, seemingly staring straight into my soul. While I’d never explicitly told her about my family history, she’d always known. If you knew the Solo family, it wasn’t hard to connect the dots as to why we suddenly became a permanent party of three one day. I hoped she wouldn’t push it, that was one wound I didn’t need reopened.

“I’ve seen evil in many forms, children. The First Order is no worse than the Sith, or the Empire, or countless others who would use the dark side. As always, they must be countered with the light. But...” Maz finally climbed off of Poe and came back to sit on her lounge chair, removing her spectacles as she did, “I have my own way of fighting. Not everything is about armadas and starfighters, you know.”

Poe sat up finally, rubbing at his sore back and stared at Maz. I was just as surprised, I never thought that she would be the one to disappoint me. She seemed so…

“You think I’m callous,” she finished my thought, “But I’m not. You will be fine without me.”

I scoffed at her dismissal and stood up, “You’re the last person I would’ve expected to say no to helping, Maz. Especially after what happened to Dad…”  “I sure hope you’re right, lady,” Poe said bitterly, “Because if you’re not, me and mine are going to die. And you can sit with that for a thousand more years for all I care.”

With that, we silently made our way out of the spa feeling like even bigger failures than we had when we entered.

————

I dried the last of my tears as Poe asked for clearance to leave for the second time, only to be denied. One of his arms was tightly wound around my torso, Maz’s questioning had opened a floodgate I’d been trying to keep shut. The mutiny, Holdo, Dad…I wished more than anything that my father was here, he would know exactly what to do. How to rebuild, how to lead, how to atone for my sins…

I growled and smacked the side window of our ship, “Why won’t they just let us off this damned planet?”  Poe tried again to be met with the same breathy voice with a different message, “Negative, pilot. You have company.” 

We looked around through the pastel fog that surrounded us and found nothing. A sudden knock on the window had us both jumping and reaching for our blasters till we saw who it was. Maz.

“Open up,” she said with another tap on the glass.

Poe opened the cockpit and Maz leaned into the small space.

“There’s something I meant to tell you before you ran off like that. But first, where did you get this ship? It’s a relic.”

“It’s a loaner.” Poe answered exasperatedly, “I told you we’re down to scrap metal, everything else destroyed. Now what do you want?”

“It’s a relic, but it’s also a collectible. When you’re done with it, come see me. I might buy it.”

I sighed frustratedly, “Maz, what do you want? We’ve got places to be.” That was a lie, we had absolutely nowhere to go.

Maz waved us off as if we had all the time in the world. “We’ve long suspected that the First Order has been taking children and disappearing people on the margins of the galaxy. But things are escalating now: arresting people on phony trumped-up charges. Small crimes that they’ve blown up into capital offenses, or charges simply fabricated out of nothing. People going missing in the dead of night, their families having no idea what happened to them. Nighttime raids or picked up off the streets and vanished. And the people most likely to disappear? People with ties to the old rebellion. And interestingly enough, we’re seeing it with some old Imperials, as well. Those who have been outspoken about their distaste for the First Order, but also those who have remained neutral. Anyone who might pose a threat, now or down the line.”

“Do you think that’s what happened to our allies?” I thought out loud, “They could’ve been arrested?”  “Maybe. Possibly.” Maz answered with a shrug, “But the First Order used to do it in secret. Now they don’t bother. They snatch people off the streets and don’t even pretend to have whatever planet they’ve infiltrated hold a sham trial. Just death or labor camps.”

“Labor camps?” Poe breathed, it was a heavy revelation.

“Someone has to build all those fancy new ships, eh?”

Poe and I shared a look, trying processing the information. “Thanks, Maz,” he said thoughtfully, “Leia will want to know about this.”

“Yes, I thought she might. Rumor has it that there’s a list somewhere of all the people they’ve taken. A big list. No one’s seen it, but I’ve got people chasing it down. I hear something definitive, I’ll call you.”

“Please do,” I responded with a single nod.

“You sure you don’t want to sell this ship?” Maz gestured to our ship once more.

“Not ours to sell.” Poe replied.

“A shame.”

Poe began to close the cockpit just as Maz called our names, “Poe! Y/n!”

We turned our heads to see a knowing smile on her face, “Be the light.”

————

We’d just gotten off Ephemera when we began to discuss the visit.

Bee initiated the conversation, What’s wrong?

“I guess I expected more.” Poe answered, earning a hum of agreement from me.

Well, what did you expect?

“Anything. I’ve known Maz a long time and never once has she disappointed me.” I shook my head, “Guess I can’t say that anymore.”

I’m sorry.

“Maybe our expectations were too high.” Poe let out a heavy sigh.

I leaned my head back against his shoulder and let out a similar sound. My mind was swirling with chaos, most of which I’d created for myself. I felt like there was going to be a dark cloud of shame that followed me around for the rest of my life. Poe’s reply to Maz back in the spa still had me thinking though, we had to fix our mistake. We couldn’t bring back the people we’d lost, but we could try to make amends. The question of how we would do that, I still didn’t have an answer for but I was determined enough to figure it out.

Communication coming in, it’s from the Millennium Falcon.

I sucked in a breath, it was the first contact I’d had since I’d left the ship. What was waiting on the other end? I felt my anxiety building once again at the extreme scenarios that filled my head. As if he could read my mind, Poe grabbed my hand and squeezed hard. His nerves were just as high as mine.

“Put it through, buddy.” Poe requested, his thumb rubbing over my hand lightly, “This is Poe Dameron, everything all right?”  “Poe!” Rose’s voice greeted, “Good to hear your voice. Wait, isn’t Y/n with you?”  “I’m here, Rose. Is everything okay?” I held my breath as we awaited her answer.

“Falcon’s on land,” she answered, “We’re hoping you and Maz will join us.”

“Maz isn’t coming,” Poe said regretfully, “I’m afraid she’s decided to sit this fight out.”

“What? Why?”

I didn’t want to lie to Rose but didn’t feel right telling her just how disinterested in our sufferings Maz appeared to be. “It’s a long story. Where are you guys?”

“That’s a long story too but the short version? Leia secured us temporary shelter on Ryloth.”

“That’s great news, Rose,” I sighed, turning to Poe who seemed to be lost in his own thoughts and giving him a nudge. He shook himself out of his daze, “We’ve got a place to land. Ryloth system.”  “The Ryloth system?” Poe repeated with a small chuckle, “How did Leia pull that one off? I thought Ryloth didn’t pick sides.”  “She’s Leia,” Rose replied.

“She is, indeed,” Poe reenforced as I grinned, I was beginning to think there truly was nothing my mother couldn’t do.

“I’m sending BB-8 the coordinates now.”

I watched as the coordinates appeared on the display screen, Poe examined them, “This says head for the outermost moon. Is that correct?”

“Ambassador Yendor has asked our starfighters to meet there. Once everyone’s collected, he’ll bring you in under cover.”

“Ah,” he said, “So we’re not officially on Ryloth.”  “It’s a bit of a stealth mission. The government knows we’re here but they can’t acknowledge us. We’re working directly with the Ryloth Defense Authority.”

“The Ryloth Defense Authority? I don’t know what that is, but it sounds promising.” Poe said, I heard just an ounce of hope in his voice for the first time in a while.

“Leia can explain once you guys are here. Any word from the rest of your Black Squadron?”  “Negative,” he answered, “But we’re just clearing planet orbital space. We’ll follow up with Black Teams One and Two shortly and give them the coordinates.”

“Affirmative. Leia also wants you to follow up with Inferno Squadron and give them the coordinates, too.”

“We will.” I replied.

“Great. See you soon.”

“Out,” Poe said before ending the transmission, “If I haven’t ever said it, your mother is incredible.”  “I’m pretty sure you sing her praises in your sleep,” I jested, earning a pinch to my side.

 “BB-8, open a secure channel to Black Team One.” Poe directed.

After a few seconds waiting, Snap’s voice came through, “Is that you, Poe? Y/n? Everything okay?”

“All good, here, Snap.” Poe stated, “Checking in on the status of your mission and to give you coordinates to a meeting place.”

There were muffled curses through the speaker of the ship followed by a voice shouting “Yes!”. Snap followed, “Copy that, Poe. And your timing is excellent. Karé and I have left Akiva with Norra and Wedge in hand.”

“Everything okay?” I asked.

“Nothing we couldn’t handle. Some local opposition and some less than effective surface to air cannons. We took care of it.”

“Good to hear,” Poe replied, “And everything’s good with Wedge and…and your mom?”  “Oh, she’s crazy as ever,” Snap laughed, “But aren’t we all these days? It’s her life, right? I’m going to let her live it.”

“I’m glad to hear that, Snap” I smiled, “I’m going to send you the coordinates right now.”  “Received.” he answered after a moment, “I’ll get them to the team. Listen, we’re going to make a couple of detours to see if we can find any of Phantom Squadron still kicking around.”

“Phantom Squadron?” Poe asked, “They haven’t flown together since my mom was still an active pilot.”  “We need people, right?”

I shrugged, “It’s worth a shot, they’d have experience.”  “See, your girlfriend approves. It won’t take long. We’ll see you on Ryloth before you know it.”  Poe chucked under his breath, “Alright, watch your back out there, Snap.”  “Always do.” Snap answered just before Poe ended the communication.

“So are you calling the shots now for my squadron?” Poe asked with a smile.

I snickered, “All I did was endorse the idea. One pilot is enough for me to manage, I don’t need five of you.”

Without even having to ask, Bee started connecting us to Sura and Jess.

“Poe! Y/n!” Sura yelled, causing us to jolt back in our seat, “I can only talk for a sec. Real busy here!”

“What’s going on?” Poe’s voice drained of all humor, “Are you and Jess under fire?”

“Uhh...you could say that.” Suralinda screamed just as the comm ended suddenly.

“Bee,” I hurried, “What happened?”

I don’t know!  “Well, can you reconnect?” Poe cried, nerves had over taken him.

I’m going to try.

“Keep trying,” he replied, “Something’s happening to them, why did I make the call to send them there? I should have-“  “Stop,” I said, attempting to keep my anxiety at bay for Poe’s sake, “We don’t know anything yet. Do not start beating yourself up before we even know what happened.”  He attempted to take some deep breaths as I kept a hand on him, but I didn’t sense his panic decreasing at all. We waited for several minutes, consumed by fear that our friends were dying, until the connection finally went through.

“Poe?” Jess’s voice rang through, “Is that you? Y/n?”  “Jess,” Poe breathed, his body relaxing back into the seat, “Is that you?”  “Oh yeah. I just tagged Suralinda into the ring, so she had to go,” she answered as she panted for breath. There was an unmistakeable roar of a crowd in the background.

“Ring?” I asked, “Jess, where the hell are you?”  “Barterus. Gladiatorial ring. The ex-Imperial Suralinda was looking for? Teza Nasz? She wouldn’t see us unless we bested her greatest warriors in hand-to-hand combat, so Suralinda thought-”

“Fuck,” Poe cursed and threw his head back, “Suralinda thought she’d throw two very much needed Resistance pilots into the death pits of Rattatak for the sake of simply talking to an ex-Imperial who may or may not be of help to us?”

“Well,” Jess responded meekly after a few seconds, “When you put it that way.”

“Get out of there, Jess,” Poe ordered, “It’s not worth losing either one of you. We need you flying for Black Squadron more than we need this Teza Nasz.”

“Yeah, I’m afraid it’s a little too late for that, Poe. The Rattataki don’t take kindly to quitters. It’s sort of a win-or-die situation. But don’t worry. We got this in hand. Oh!”

There was a crash in the background and the sound of a vibro-ax being charged up. It was going to be harder now to reassure Poe that everything was going to be fine…

“I’m up! Gotta go, don’t worry!”

“BB-8 is going to send coordinates for our rendezvous point,” I said, “Get there in one piece as soon as you can.”   “Don’t mess around.” Poe said, ”And don’t die! That’s an order.

“Order received!” Jess announced before disconnecting the communication properly.

“Insanity…” Poe grumbled, though I couldn’t help myself from laughing, “Something funny?”  “I’m sorry,” I said in between my giggles, “I really hope you appreciate that the rest of your squadron are just as hotheaded as you are.”  He sighed irritatedly at me before I felt his chest begin to rumble with laughter. For just a few brief seconds, everything felt okay. Sitting in Poe’s lap, flying together and laughing.

“We need to make one last call,” I said, asking Bee to put it through.

“Shriv here.”  “Shriv,” Poe greeted, “It’s Poe and Y/n, how’s your mission going?

“Oh, you know,” he answered, ”Lots of flying around and getting doors slammed in our faces. But we did find a couple of old friends of the Rebellion. I think Leia will be pleased.”

“I’m sure she will. We’re headed for Ryloth,” I spoke up, “Does Inferno Squad feel like joining?”

 “Absolutely.” 

“Great. We’re sending the coordinates now.” Poe replied as he pressed the button. 

Shriv answered soon after, “Received. We’re on our way.”

“See you there,” I said and ended the transmission, “Well, that’s a little bit of good news.”

“Yeah,” Poe adjusted a control before asking Bee to jump to lightspeed, "We’re going to need a lot more of it though.”

————

We were one of the thirteen ships that landed on Ryloth in the middle of the night. I was happy to see as many ships as that in the hanger when Poe and I dismounted, it was a good start. He was the first one to spot Mom,

“Leia!” he called out and we jogged across the hanger to get to her. Even though I’d known she was safe on Ryloth, I couldn’t relax until I’d actually seen her with my own eyes.

“Commander,” she said with a nod to Poe. He was so embarrassed by his casualness that he hadn’t even realized that she’d called him ‘Commander’ again.

“General,” he greeted again as he blushed, “Sorry for the informality. Just glad to see you again.”

“I’m glad to see you, too, Poe. You too, Commander Solo,” she said, with a wink directed towards me, “Walk with me and tell me what we have.” I’d have to ask her later what we’d done to earn our titles back.

We made our way through the hanger and explained as many people as we could.

“The two pilots there you know from Black Squadron, Jessica Pava and Suralinda Javos.” Poe pointed towards the duo, plus a recently added third person, “The woman with them is ex-Imperial-officer Teza Nasz. They found her on Rattatak after fighting in the death pits.”

Sura and Jess looked…well, they could’ve looked worse. Jess’s dark hair was matted with blood, Sura had a few bruises and her lip was split. Teza Nasz was easily the most intimidating person I’d ever seen in my life. She wore a one-shouldered jumpsuit made up of various animal skins and mismatched pieces of armor. There were lines that were cut into her arm, no doubt by a knife and she had dark red dreadlocks down her back.

“That warlord is ex-Imperial?” Mom asked, I could hear her stifling a laugh.

Poe explained her backstory and how she’d been an officer in the Imperial Navy, strategist in the Battle of Jakku and was assumed dead shortly after. Suralinda and her had known each other at some point.

Mom was thinking it all over, “Well, she looks like a warrior, not a strategist, but perhaps I shouldn’t judge by looks alone. If she dropped off New Republic scopes that thoroughly and was able to rise to power on Rattatak, she’s probably both. What’s her name, again?”

“Teza Nasz,” I answered at the exact moment the warlord turned around and locked eyes with Mom. There was some sort of silent standoff between the two of them, they were both powerful in their own right. Only once Nasz turned away first did we continue our discussion.

“Who else?” Mom asked before a voice called her name. We turned to see a young girl behind us eagerly waiting to shake Mom’s hand.

“It’s good to finally meet you in person, Zay,” she greeted, “Where’s Shriv?”

“Over here,” the Duros said, walking up to join us. “Good to see you General.”  Shriv had been a Rebellion, now Resistance, fighter. He’d seen everything from the Battle of Endor to the Battle of Jakku during the old days. If you wanted to hear some good war stories, Shriv was your man. I’d only heard of Zay from my mother, I knew that she was recently orphaned and an excellent pilot. Naturally her story tugged at my heart.

After we’d caught up and Shriv had excused himself, Mom asked Zay if they’d located anyone. We made our way over to the civilian transport where she said she thought we’d be happy with what we found. She also filled us in on what had gone on during their mission. Once she got to the point where they were unable to locate many of the people they’d been trying to find, I decided to jump in.

“Maz told us something similar,” I said, “It seems like they’ve disappeared.”  “What does it mean?” Zay asked.

“The First Order, most likely,” Poe answered, “If we know about these potential allies, so do they. They’re just getting to them first.”  We made our way to the transport and took a look at the group. There were two native Twi’lek’s handing out hot towels and water to our allies, everyone was in their own conversations that seemed to die as they noticed Mom’s presence. A single figure broke apart from the small crowd and began walking toward us.

“This is-“ Zay began to say.

“I know who this is,” Mom said quietly before greeting the older man, “General Rieekan.”  As they embraced, I finally placed where I’d heard the name. He’d been a General during the Rebellion, working closely with my mother on Hoth and everywhere else the Rebellion had taken them. Poe, Zay and I broke away from them to let the two old comrades catch up.

“I can’t believe you and Shriv found him,” I patted Zay on the shoulder, “Good job.”  “Thanks,” she beamed at me, before her eyes caught my lightsaber on my hip, “Wait, you’re Commander Solo.”

“Last time I checked.”

“You’re a legend!”  Poe and I exchanged a confused look before I turned back to the girl, “How so?”  “Crait! You took on Kylo Ren all by yourself!” Zay exclaimed, her hands flying to her head, “It’s all over the galaxy how you battled each other. A-And then I heard Luke Skywalker showed up and the two of you fought together. Oh man, I can’t believe I’m actually talking to you!”

How the hell had that story gotten out? I assumed that moment would live and die on Crait, maybe it would spread slowly through the Resistance. I didn’t think I would turn into a galaxy-wide tale. Much less, that it would be told falsely with the embellished storyline that my uncle and I had fought together. I wished that was the truth.

“Well,” I awkwardly smiled, “That’s not entirely true.”  Zay’s face fell as if I’d just crushed some dream of hers, “So you didn’t battle Kylo Ren?”  “Well,” I rubbed the back of my neck, “I did, but-“  “So you are a hero!” she grinned before excitedly shaking my hand, “I can’t tell you how excited I am to meet a real live Jedi knight!”

I could tell I wasn’t going to get in a word edgewise, the girl already looked up to me seemingly. But I felt unnerved at the thought that I was letting someone else think I was a hero. Heroes didn’t lead mutinies and they certainly didn’t get their soldiers killed.

Shouts began to rise behind us in the hanger, we turned to see a crowd was beginning to form. I could clearly hear the punches that were being thrown.

“A fight!” Zay excitedly shouted.

Poe, Shriv and I ran off together to see what was going on. I should’ve known things were going just a little too well to continue that way.

————

A/N: Fun Fact: The conversation between Zay and the reader is based on the ending of TLJ with the three kids reenacting the lightsaber fight. As always, thank for all the support on this series! I’m having the best time writing it 🖤

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fantastic-rambles · 4 years ago

Text

Your Move [1]

Fandom: Yuukoku no Moriarty

Summary: I just wanted William to play chess with Sherlock because I’m a nerd. Starts shortly before the events of “Scandal in the British Empire” and will loosely follow the manga (hopefully). A real game is played throughout the story. [NOTE: Given the time period, there’s an argument to be made that they should be using descriptive notation, which was far more common in England at the time. But I personally believe that William would opt to use the more elegant algebraic notation. I also wanted to confuse John initially, not that that’s hard. Lol.]

Characters: Sherlock Holmes, William James Moriarty, John Watson, Louis James Moriarty, Sebastian Moran, Fred Porlock, Albert James Moriarty (mentioned)

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 2.5k

"Holmes! Hey, Holmes! Message for you!"

John and Sherlock looked up at the cheeky call, watching Wiggins run up to them while waving an envelope. It was about the size of a calling card, and after Sherlock accepted it and turned it over, they both saw that the front was blank.

"I've got orders to wait for your reply," Wiggins informed Sherlock with a grin, a shilling flashing briefly between his fingers before it disappeared. Curious, John peered over Sherlock's shoulder as he opened the envelope, pulling out a small card with a cryptic message written in a neat script.

1. e4 Your move, Mr. Detective.

But Sherlock seemed to have understood it immediately, given the way his face had lit up. Usually, he only looked that excited when he was solving an interesting case or talking about the mysterious Lord of Crime.

"John, give me a pen," Sherlock said, holding a hand out expectantly as he flipped the card over to the other side. Even though he was still confused, John obeyed, unclipping the pen from his pocket and handing it over. Grinning, the master detective scrawled "e6" onto the back before stuffing it back in the envelope and handing it to Wiggins, who immediately dashed off.

"What was that about, Sherlock?" John asked as he tucked his pen away again. "Something related to the Lord of Crime?"

"Nah, it was Liam. He must be in London today!" Sherlock's stride lengthened as he made as if to follow the urchin, and John had to hurry to catch up to his sudden energy. He'd only really seen William James Moriarty in passing, when he had been arrested on the train and subsequently exonerated, but Lestrade had told him afterwards about the young noble who had proved himself to be as intelligent as Sherlock. John found it hard to believe that there could be anyone who could compete with his flatmate, but he did feel a sense of gratitude to Moriarty for his contributions to securing his freedom.

Still, seeing how Sherlock could behave like a child… or rather, a child looking forward to playing with a friend (since he behaved like a child most of the time), John felt that he could believe Lestrade. Just talking to anyone else seemed to bore Sherlock since it was incredibly difficult--if not impossible--to keep up with him, so for him to actively seek out someone else suggested that, at the very least, he sincerely found them to be fascinating. John couldn't help feeling bad for William, though; Sherlock was difficult enough to deal with when he had no personal interest in someone. To be an object of his obsession seemed like it would be positively exhausting.

"Wait, Sherlock. Wiggins went that way," John pointed out as they crossed an intersection where he'd seen the boy turn left, but Sherlock shook his head.

"Do you really think I'm going to chase after a child? As long as I can figure out where Liam is, that's what's important. Taxi!"

John sighed, but he followed Sherlock into the hansom cab, listening to his friend give instructions to the driver. Their route brought them to the outskirts of London, depositing them outside a large manor, and John had a sinking feeling that he knew just who the owner was. Sherlock didn't hesitate to step inside the gates and walk up the broad walkway framed by carefully manicured gardens, while John followed more hesitantly.

"Sherlock, there's etiquette that should be observed when you're calling on someone," he whispered. If the card had really come from the second son of the Moriarty family, then wouldn't he be in town, rather than at home? John simply couldn't fathom how Sherlock had come to the conclusion that the man was here, and he hoped that his friend wouldn't make too much of a fuss when he was told otherwise.

"Don't be such a bore, John. Knowing Liam, he's probably expecting me." He rapped smartly on the door before John could reply. Bracing himself for the inevitable confrontation, John glanced around the grounds. There seemed to be a surprising lack of servants: John had only spotted one young-looking gardener kneeling by some rose bushes. He had looked up briefly as the two men passed by before returning to his work, and John wondered if the other workers were just taking a break. It hardly seemed likely that such a well-tended estate could be managed by just one worker.

When the door opened, a rather rough-looking butler looked out at the two of them, and John tried to look apologetic, but Sherlock didn't seem put off at all, speaking up before the other man could even inquire about their visit.

"Is Liam in?" Sherlock asked.

The man seemed to contemplate them for a little longer before turning around and calling, "Oi, Will, there's two blokes here to see you! I think one of them's that famous detective!"

His lack of propriety shocked John. Were the Moriartys some sort of eccentric family? Their servants certainly gave him that impression. Or maybe they had hired them out of noblesse oblige, giving them an opportunity to earn a living and learn how to work, so that they could find employment in other houses afterwards, as some other families did. After all, they had adopted and cared for two orphan children, one of whom had died in a fire, but the other one still lived with them. If so, that was rather admirable, though still odd, as there didn't appear to be any upper servants who would normally be given the role of training new workers. But before he could contemplate the situation further, a familiar face appeared in the doorway of another room.

"Mr. Holmes? And Dr. Watson?"

The young aristocrat approached the two of them, his expression curious, but not surprised.

"We were just about to have tea," William informed them. "Would you like to join us?"

"Thanks for the invitation!" Sherlock replied enthusiastically, stepping inside without any reservations. John followed more slowly, letting the butler close the door behind them. All three of them followed William through the room that he had appeared from, stepping out onto a low patio that looked out over the garden. William's adopted brother--Louis, if John remembered correctly--was standing by a table already set for afternoon tea, meticulously polishing one of the knives before setting it down. Four places had been set, which surprised John. It seemed that Sherlock had been right: William had been expecting them.

"Please, sit." William gestured to the chairs, and Sherlock and Louis immediately claimed the seats closest to him, leaving John to gingerly take his own seat across from William. Louis poured out the tea with a deft hand as Sherlock leaned towards William, his eyes glittering with excitement.

"So, Liam, what brings you to London? Another plot by the Lord of Crime?" he asked, plucking a scone off the platter and shoving it whole into his mouth. John, who had just begun to sip on his tea, choked. Seizing a napkin, he began to cough vigorously into it, his eyes huge. Was Sherlock really suggesting that William was a murderer, or at least working with one? His coughing fit prevented him from hearing most of the answer, but judging from William's face, he hadn't taken any offense at the accusation.

"... just helping Albert out," William was saying airily when John finally managed to get himself back under control. Taking a deep breath, he managed another sip of tea without incident before helping himself to a madeleine.

"Albert is your elder brother, right? And he's in the military?"

"He was, but he's been discharged. Currently, he's setting up a company to invest in trading companies or factories in England. After all, it would be beneficial to our society to support progress and provide people with opportunities to break free of the traditional system in which the poor are bound to the land they are born on, with no choice but to work for the gentry, don't you think?"

"Aaaah, that sort of stuff doesn't concern me," Sherlock replied, waving his hand dismissively, and John winced. Of course, he knew that Sherlock was the kind of person who completely ignored anything that didn't interest him, but for him to continue behaving in such a way when they were guests was deeply insulting to the host. "You're probably right, though, Liam. Anyways, it seems that my reply hasn't arrived yet? e6."

William arched an eyebrow, then leaned back and beckoned the butler over, murmuring something to him before turning back to Sherlock. "d4."

"d5."

They spat strange codes at each other, and John glanced at Louis, who looked irritated as he stared at Sherlock. John couldn't blame him: if William was half as obnoxious as Sherlock when it came to flaunting his intellect, then the other man must have also gone through a lot. Feeling as though the two of them had been left out of whatever was happening, John leaned towards the other man.

"The tea is very nice," he said awkwardly, but at least it caught Louis' attention.

"Thank you," Louis replied with some stiffness.

"Do you know what they're doing?"

Just as Louis was about to reply, William and Sherlock's next exchange answered the question for him, though it seemed that they were using some sort of system that John was unfamiliar with.

"Knight to c3."

"Bishop to b4."

"e5."

"c5."

By then, the butler had reappeared with a chess board, placing it down between Sherlock and William. As William reached out to move a piece, Sherlock chuckled.

"You can't expect me to believe that you need that, Liam. Come on, let's keep going."

But William just smiled as he continued to rearrange the board.

"There's a certain charm in moving the pieces yourself, Mr. Holmes. It's easy to just use words to command others, but if you distance yourself from the feeling of having their lives in your hands, it's very easy to forget what's important. A game of chess is ultimately a game of war, and even the pieces that fall to the wayside or are sacrificed should have their value remembered. Don't you agree, Dr. Watson?"

"Excuse me?" John blinked, surprised to be suddenly addressed, and William picked up a bishop, toying idly with the carved birch piece.

"As an army doctor, you would have a better insight into this discussion, wouldn't you?" William asked, staring at him intently. John was reminded of the unwavering stare of a viper, coiled in the trenches and ready to strike at any man unwary enough to walk about without checking if there was anything underfoot. "To you, are the men you treated, or those who died on the operating table, just numbers? Or did they have names and families, reasons to travel so far from home to die in a distant land?"

"Well..." John shifted uncomfortably, his mind shying away from those memories, so he was relieved when Sherlock suddenly reached out and grabbed William's hand.

"Oi, Liam, it's just a game. Make your move already."

William blinked, and the intense pressure that John was feeling faded. "Ah. I apologize if my questions upset you, Dr. Watson. Excessive curiosity is not a very attractive trait, I'm afraid, but it is one of my flaws."

He contemplated the board briefly before placing down the piece in his hand. "Bishop to d2."

"Brother," Louis interrupted softly. "We're supposed to meet Albert soon."

"Is it that time already?" William pulled out a pocket watch, opening it to examine the dial. Then, he snapped it closed again, getting to his feet and straightening his clothing. "I do apologize, gentlemen, but we have a prior engagement. If you'll just wait a short while, Mr. Moran will call you a cab."

"Eh, don't be such a killjoy, Liam. You're heading into town, right? You could give us a ride," Sherlock protested, but William shook his head, smiling enigmatically.

"Unfortunately, I would not be good company. There are several documents that I was planning to go over this afternoon, so I'll need to catch up on them in the carriage instead. But it was worth it, as this was far more enjoyable. Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson." He inclined his head slightly in a clear farewell, leaving the patio with his brother trailing behind him.

"Liam! Knight to e7!" Sherlock called after him before slumping back in his chair. He reached out to nudge his knight forward before sighing and tilting his head back to stare at the sky. John recognized the signs for the start of one of his flatmate's dark moods, but fortunately, the butler came to fetch them before Sherlock tried to do anything extreme. Again, John was struck by how unprofessional the man seemed as he ushered them out the door and into the waiting carriage.

"Sherlock, what do you think of the butler? Mr. Moran?" John asked in an attempt to distract his friend as the horses clopped through the gate. Sherlock was digging around in his pockets, eventually pulling out his cigarette case and taking one out.

"Match," he ordered brusquely, and John handed him the requested match, waiting for him to light his cigarette and take a long drag. Only after that did Sherlock deign to answer his question.

"He isn't a butler by trade. He was a soldier before--an officer, most likely, since he seems to come from a noble family. He probably saw a lot of men that he cared about die while he was abroad, but unlike you, he seems to be mostly over it now. Perhaps you should ask him for a referral to his therapist."

John frowned. "What's a man like that doing as a butler?"

"What's an army doctor doing as an assistant to the world's only consulting detective?" Sherlock retorted. "People have their own circumstances, and their decisions don't always make sense to others. What?"

John was gaping at his friend as though he'd suddenly grown another head.

"What?" Sherlock repeated, and John shook off his surprise slowly.

"I didn't expect you to actually show consideration towards someone else," he replied, his eyebrows still raised.

"What are you talking about? What about Hope?" Sherlock pointed out, sounding mildly irritated, as he usually did whenever John pointed out something patently obvious--at least to Sherlock. But before John could respond, the carriage stopped, and their driver announced, "221 Baker Street!"

They exited the cab, and as they were crossing the threshold of 221B, John suddenly remembered another, more pressing issue.

"And what was that about? Accusing William of being the Lord of Crime? Even as a joke, that was incredibly rude of you!" he reprimanded Sherlock, only to be taken aback when the other man actually laughed out loud. The suddenness of it even prompted Miss Hudson to poke her head around the corner to see what was happening.

"He's brilliant, isn't he? But you don't need to worry about that, John. He's just playing along, like he did on the train. God, if he really was the Lord, it would be perfect!"

Still laughing, he headed upstairs. John exchanged an exasperated look with Miss Hudson's confused one, then headed up himself.

[Part 2]

#yuukoku no moriarty #moriarty the patriot #yuumori #ynm #fanfic #fan fic #sherlock holmes #william james moriarty #john watson #louis james moriarty #sebastian moran #fred porlock #albert james moriarty #mine #fun trivia: if the card was treated as an actual calling/visiting card then sherlock was rude as fuck #because receiving the card in an envelope means please don't visit me #and the extra settings were actually supposed to be for moran and fred lol

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comicbooksidecharacter · 4 years ago

Text

Hiraeth [Part 27]

Bucky Barnes X OC (Amelia Stone)

Hiraeth: (n.) “longing or deep yearning for a place, time, feeling or person long gone; or that never was.”

Summary: Things have changed for those who opposed the Sokovian accords. They spend a Christmas together.

*very tiny chapter I wrote to make ground for more fluff*

She didn't know how long it would take to get used to the mildew of their new apartment. It was a fairly decent establishment, but the rain always dampened the wall; that combined with the fact that the landlord was always doing weed.

She was still struggling a lot with her pain, some days more than others. Now that she had also left the facility, there was no way to keep a close eye on the wound. It used to burn every once in while, particularly when she had those recurring nightmares, now vivid, of being tortured, at the hands of HYDRA, and Bucky. She could remember how she got some of her cuts, that had left a mark on her skin. She couldn't really remember how she hurt her chest.

Maybe it was why Bucky was avoiding her. Somewhere in his mind, he was relating Tony's anger to her forgiveness, doubting if her forgiveness would turn on him the moment he made another mistake. It made him very aware of everyone's presence, and he seemed keen to stay in the shadows, and not interact with them so much. If she hadn't known better, she would have thought he was like that. Brooding, proud, antisocial and a recluse.

Christmas arrived, it was bittersweet, because the team celebrated it together, at least once during the 25 days. To keep up with the festivities, they all decided to have a Secret Santa. It was a beautiful evening on the 24th. The warmth was just right, it made the house feel like a safe haven from the bone-chilling winter outside. The world had gone to a deep slumber under the blanket of fresh snow. The smell of cinnamon and apple had muffled that of the mildew she always complained about. Steve was telling stories of his childhood; Sam was astonished that Steve was indeed a grandpa. Natasha was drinking wine, Bucky too, sitting in the chair and smiling as Steve recounted shared memories.

Ellie had just left the room a minute earlier, and came back holding her phone. Steve and Natasha were to notice.

"Ellie", Steve began, "Come on. Not today. It's Christmas."

"Just one minute Steve."

"He said he'll come, so he will. And if he doesn't, well.. we see that later."

The cryptic nature of their conversation caught Bucky's attention, whose eyes suddenly landed on Ellie and her phone.

"True", she replied, "Ugh.... I am just so nervous."

"Didn't you set the time with him?", Sam asked too.

"Well, he said around Christmas, that too in a mall or something", she replied. "He apparently has a thing for festivities and lights." Ellie closed her phone and put it away.

"Are you sure you want to meet him?", Sam asked, "I mean, you've not really done this kinda stuff before."

"It's ok. Exploring new horizons", she replied. "The world has changed."

"And yet somehow it's still the same", Natasha continued. She put her glass away and straightened the ruffles of her beautiful green dress. "So, let's do the gift thing and get this over with."

Ellie put her phone away and settled on the beanbag next to the fireplace. The gifts were brought and they began to unwrap them.

It began with Steve. It was a small rectangular box, no longer than his hand, wrapped in blue and silver paper, with a red bow on it. He chuckled at the color scheme and unwrapped it. Silence followed.

"Geez", he could manage to say, but his eyes were wide.

"What is it?", Natasha asked.

"It's a Swiss army knife", he said, tracing the sides with his finger. "1939. Belonged to one of my friends in the regiment."

They all looked at the name carved on the side of the knife. "L. R. Anthony."

"We shared a tent during one of our missions. Really, a gem of a man. Had a wife, Margie and.. 4 children I think. A pair of girls and boys. Kentucky.. Man..." Ellie took a moment to steal a glance at Bucky who, as usual, felt indecipherable.

There was silence in the room. All they could hear was the fire.

Sam opened his gift and found paper inside.

"What's this?", he read the card inside. It had two tickets to the quarter finals of a football match. "WHO BALLIN?" he announced, smiling enthusiastically.

Natasha was next to open her gift. Someone had gifted her tickets to Disneyland and an invitation to a fancy restaurant. She could definitely use a break. They all could.

Ellie had a small packet in her hand, looked like a letter envelope. She opened the flaps and two things. One was a really delicate chain, made of silver probably. It had the most delicate pendant on it, a rose. There was one more thing, a small plastic bag, with small bead-like things.

"Are these seeds?", she asked, examining them closely. The paper at the bottom of the box said so. It was geranium and carnation seeds. She looked so happy, always having an interest in horticulture. Her silence though, made everyone curious.

“Something wrong?”

"No. I just... I love it!", she said, smiling faintly.

Bucky was last, awkwardly fidgeting with the box in his hand, it was a brown box, wrapped in a plain black string with a tiny plastic pine cone in place of a bow. He opened the box carefully and found two things inside, a nice woolen sweater and an empty journal. On top lay a note which said, "To new memories..."

Announcing that they were going to be late for dinner, Natasha put the gifts away. While everyone was putting their things away, Bucky was wearing the warm brown sweater he found in his gift.

“It’s a perfect fit”, Steve commented, passing him by to get the keys.

“It is”, Bucky replied, making final adjustments to the hem. He had been estranged for so long, the feeling of a home made him feel awkward. If he could, he would have tried to liken this Christmas to all of his past ones, good ones, but memory wouldn’t serve him that well. It was outside the house his mind was trapped in, and the guard was too strong.

Ellie stood right next to him, looking at herself in the giant hallway mirror. She was wearing a lovely black dress, with a thigh high slit and perfect stockings to match. Her hair were open and flowing beautifully down.

“Can you help me?”, she asked, awkwardly, holding the chain in her hand. “I might as well wear this too.”

“It matches..”

Bucky clipped the chain, the tiny gold rose pendant twinkling under the light. It looked perfect. She looked at his sweater and smiled.

“Looks nice”, she said, walking away.

“Yes it does”, he replied, in a low voice, looking at himself again, “Thanks Amy.”

----------------------------

Sorry it got hella long. I wanted to make some sense of the timeline and also, Bucky related fluff angst had to be there lol. Also... Is the series too long? Should I be cutting it short? I just like details a little too much.

Taglist:

This champ

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reyesstrand · 4 years ago

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not sure if I’m allowed to send another but, what about 85 for tarlos?

sorry for the wait for this, but this idea got in my head and it kind of got out of control — a good ending to this series, i guess!! i hope you enjoy!

prompt taken from this list. also available on ao3!!

Three weeks to the day after the solar flare, Carlos receives a cryptic text from his mom: come for lunch today?

He mulls it over; he loves his mother, and it’s no secret to anybody that knows him that he’s a total mama’s boy, but there’s got to be a reason behind her impromptu meal, and an evil part of his mind tells him it has to be bad news. She doesn’t mention anything about his sisters joining them, and Carlos doesn’t know if that should stress him out more or less. If it’s something bad, he’d assume that he and his sisters would find out at the same time — but that only leaves him more confused.

She’s a strong woman, and is a complete health-nut — ever since his abuela started having mobility issues, his mother’s been a champion for organic eating and natural sleep aids and doing yoga every morning. Carlos can’t put bad news from the doctor completely off the table, but he starts to drift towards the other countless possibilities — and so he can’t say no to her. Even if it’s his only day off that lines up with TK’s schedule, he spares a glance at his softly snoring boyfriend before figuring the man’s close enough with his own father that he’ll have to understand a shift in plans. And so Carlos finds himself more alert than he’d been when he’d rubbed sleep from his eyes and initially checked his phone five minutes ago, thumbs hovering over the screen before he sends her a simple of course, mami, and sets about getting ready for the day after pressing a quick kiss to TK’s hairline.

He’s showered and had his coffee and is trying to quietly get dressed when Carlos hears TK groan and grumble, clearly fighting between catching a little more sleep and getting out of bed. Carlos watches with a small smile as TK slowly sits up when he realizes he’s alone in bed, before their gazes catch, and his heart soars as TK’s eyes visibly light up at seeing him.

“Everything okay?” TK asks, voice still deep and groggy, and Carlos nods as he starts on buttoning up his shirt.

“We might have to change our plans today,” Carlos says apologetically. “I really—fuck, I really wanted to spend he day with you, but my mom wants me to come over and she usually doesn’t spring stuff like that on me unless there’s something wrong, and—”

“Hey,” TK cuts him off, and Carlos raises his brows at him. “It’s okay, seriously. Marjan’s been bugging me to take Buttercup to get some pampering, anyway.”

“You’re the best,” Carlos says, and TK grins at him.

“Damn straight.”

TK tilts his head up, clearly looking for a kiss. Carlos huffs out a laugh and comes in close, so their mouths are nearly touching, before he whispers, “You have no shame, do you.”

“Nope,” TK grins, eyes crinkling in the corners, popping the p before he closes the space between them and gets the kiss he wanted. “I’ll see you later, though?”

His eyes shine with hopefulness, and Carlos nods earnestly. “I’ll text you when I’m on my way home.”

There’s another brief kiss, before Carlos sighs as he presses their foreheads together.

“I hate just leaving on you,” Carlos admits, even though the thoughts surrounding what his mom’s intentions are with lunch are swirling around his mind.

“I’ll be fine,” TK says, ducking forward to press another kiss to the corner of Carlos’ mouth. “Say hi to your mom for me.”

It’s only half a joke — TK’s been talking, metaphorically, about meeting Carlos’ family for a week or so. He mentions it whenever Carlos talks about childhood memories or a story from one of his sisters, noting that Carlos has known his dad technically even before he knew TK. But it never evolves from a few jokes, and even though Carlos wants nothing more than to continue to make their relationship solidified through introducing each other properly to the people that mean the most to them, he doesn’t know how to seriously approach that subject.

Instead of trying now, Carlos leaves with a promised, “I’ll see you later,” before he grabs his keys and phone and makes his way out of his home.

The half-hour drive goes by mostly in a blur, because he’s too caught up in what might unfold at the lunch. They usually try to have big family dinners bi-weekly, due to everyone’s work schedules and his sister’s kids’ schedules, but he can’t remember the last time a meal like this was just dropped on him the day-of. He does have the right state of mind to stop and grab his mom a bouquet of lilies, her favourite, before he pulls up to the humble farmhouse he’d lived in his whole childhood.

“Is everything okay?”

The words are out of his mouth within seconds of stepping into the house, half-startling his mother as she pours out two glasses of sweet tea.

“Can’t I ask my favourite son to have lunch with me when I know it’s his day off?”

Carlos flushes a bit, handing the flowers to his mom as she pulls him in for a hug. “I’m your only son.”

“Still my favourite,” she grins, smacking a kiss on his cheek before she gestures toward the back deck. He follows her, taking a deep breath as he goes.

* * *

“I know something is up, baby.”

He'd been expecting something regarding her own well-being or health, or his abuela's, so when the conversation turns to him he's sort of confused. And Carlos has grown up hearing from people that he has his mother’s eyes, and as he looks into them now, he thinks he sees the similarities as she looks at him with a particular warmth laced with concern he’s been accustomed to since he was born.

“You know, I saw an interesting photo of you the other day,” she says it off-handedly, but Carlos still manages to choke on his drink. She doesn’t hesitate, going on to describe the picture he knows intimately because he posted it to his Instagram only forty-eight hours ago: him and TK, smiling as they stand close, too close to just be friendly to any onlooker, taken by Paul in the late hours of the night as they strolled around downtown after their shifts. He hadn’t even considered his family seeing the photo, and he silently rues the day his sisters made their mother various social media accounts so she could keep up with their lives. Her voice turns soft, as she squeezes his arm and asks, “Is there something you want to tell me?”

“Uh, I have to pee.”

He says it quickly enough that he can run off to inside the house, where the remnants of their lunch sits scattered over the counter. Carlos beelines for the bathroom and leans against the sink as he pulls out his phone.

how do you feel about my mom knowing about you?

seriously.

Carlos sends the messages to TK and taps his phone against the heel of his palm as he waits for a response. He thinks back to his mother’s implications — that she knows about them, is okay with them — and figures that he could always lie. It’ll look suspicious as hell, of course, after he just fucked off like that, but he’s never really brought any boyfriends around before. Mainly because he’s never been in a serious enough relationship to warrant that. But he thinks — he knows that there’s something real between him and TK, and he wouldn’t hate his mom and eventually his sisters knowing about him and meeting him and welcoming him into the fold of their family dynamic. But he needs to make sure this is still something TK’s okay with, that it’s going at his pace.

TK texts him back quickly, like always. i was serious about wanting to meet her someday. maybe even soon. so if you want to talk about me i support you.

you’re sure? Carlos texts back, as he feels his nerves starting to both tamper off and confusingly grow at the same time as he walks toward the backyard again, preparing to let his mother into this part of his life.

100%. tell her only the good things, i wanna impress her, TK replies, along with a string of heart emojis. Carlos huffs a little, quickly typing out, she’ll love you no matter what, before pocketing his phone and sliding back into his seat across from his mother.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, meeting her eyes, and as he opens his mouth to continue, she quickly interjects.

“Don’t lie to me, Carlos,” she warns, though there’s warmth behind her words, a desperate plea to tell him that she wants to be included in this part of his life, no matter how new it might be. "You know you can talk to me."

So Carlos takes another deep breath, not really looking at his mother as he whispers: “I met someone, mami.”

He stares down at the ground; after a few seconds, he shifts his gaze to stare at the blooming gardens that live in clusters around the yard, various vegetables and flowers alike growing with vengeance as the summer welcomes them back into the world. When she makes a noise and he finally meets her gaze again, she’s looking at him with nothing but fondness.

“Oh, baby,” his mom is smiling, now, and she brings his face close to press a kiss to his forehead.

“It’s only been official for a few weeks but, um, I really like him,” Carlos admits, as his mother lovingly squeezes his hand. With a laugh, he adds: “I like him a lot. And I’d love for you to meet him.”

His mother leans forward and curls her arms around him, like she did when he was a kid and he felt too small to conquer the world, and he immediately feels calm wash over him. “I would love to, mijo.”

(Carlos has a flash of a memory, then, coming out when he was fifteen years old and terrified but desperate for his truth to be known. He first told his older sister Camila, and then his mother a couple of days later, and he remembers so vividly how they hugged his then-tiny frame, all knobbly bones and a height he was getting used to, both of them supportive and loving and adamant that nothing would change how much they love him. He towers over both of them now, but he feels protected in his mother’s arms, like he always has).

As they pull out of the hug, his mother elbows him good-naturedly. “Alright, tell me about this boy then.”

His mama’s grinning at him teasingly as she says it, and Carlos sits back and huffs out a laugh of his own, rubbing the back of his neck.

“His name’s TK. He’s a firefighter,” Carlos says, barely holding back a bigger smile when his mother makes an approving face at that tidbit of information. “He’s—he’s funny and beautiful and has the warmest heart.”

“I’m so happy for you,” his mother says, eyes bright with love, as if just listening to him talk about TK has made her realize how truly happy he is. And maybe it's allowed himself to look at inside retrospectively and figure out that yeah, he is happier than he's ever been. “I’m sure I’ll love him. You’ll have to bring him around.”

“I will,” Carlos promises, feeling like he’s floating on air. “Oh, and he’s from New York City.”

He says it pointedly, knowing his mother’s always wanted to travel to the Big Apple.

“Well,” his mother says, “I guess we’ll have to show your city boy how we do family dinners, then.”

She brings him in for another hug as she smiles, before she goes off to refill their glasses. Carlos sits back, considering the idea of TK being a part of his family, for good — and he finds that he wants nothing else in the world.

#tarlos #911 lone star #my fic #one shot collection #robronisendgame

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sincerelyreidburke · 4 years ago

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13 with Cole and Claire

First of all, Toby, I love you. Second, Cole/Claire gang rise. “Wait, Cole and Claire dated?” Yes! The following ficlet is set Cole’s freshman/Claire’s sophomore year, which is the school year before Nando and co. arrive. And in an interesting first, it’s Claire’s POV. Claire, if you do not know her, is from the drama club. She’s one of the nicest people at Kiersey College.

And yes, she dated Cole Kolinsky. I honestly think it’s a crime that she winds up breaking up with Cole Kolinsky, but in Claire’s defense, it’s a mutual decision. And don’t worry; they stay friends.

So without further ado! From this list of sappy prompts. (Yes, I’m still accepting them if you want!)

13. “The way I feel when I’m with you...”

Claire is having a great birthday.

She knew it would be a good day when she woke up to sunny skies and a forecasted temperature above freezing, which, honestly, it’s about time, since it’s April 18th. Spring has pretty much arrived to campus, and even though this is her second spring at Kiersey, she feels like she maybe almost forgot entirely how pretty it gets. The trees are budding— slowly, but surely— and there are a few flowers coming up— bulb stuff, mostly hyacinth and iris, like they have in the backyard garden at home.

So that’s how her birthday starts— with a smile, a recognition of spring, and a nice breeze through the window, which Ellie opened, by the way, because they’re trying to ‘embrace the outdoors’ in Joy Hall Room 134. Ellie is asleep when she wakes up, because Claire is definitely the earlier riser in their roommate duo, but the second she lifts her curly ginger head from the pillow, the first words out of her sleep-deprived self are, “Happy birthday, legend!”

There are other things in the morning, too— a FaceTime call with her mom, an invasion of said call by her siblings and her dad to say happy birthday, a regular voice call with her grandparents because they can’t work FaceTime, and— maybe sweetest of all— a text.

iMessage

4/18/18, 12:03 AM

Cole💕🎶

helloooooooo don’t yell at me for my poor sleeping schedule choices but its past midnight so happy birthday :) you make me very happy, i hope you have the best day (when you wake up, which i hope isn’t now because it’s way past your bedtime)❤️

She laughs at her screen when she reads it, and can’t really wipe the smile that lingers off of her face. Ellie is awake by that point, and she has some kind of best friend boyfriend-radar, because she immediately pipes up from her bed across the room. “Uh-oh.” Claire looks up, and she’s grinning. Her hair is everywhere, because of the way she slept on it. “Mushy text alert.”

There’s literally no use denying who the text was from, so Claire just shrugs and shakes her head, still smiling. “He just said happy birthday.”

Ellie sits cross-legged, and pulls her duvet around her shoulders. So much for embracing the outdoors. “What time did he send the text?”

“Uh… 12:03?” Claire pauses. “Why does it ma—”

“Because that means he didn’t see it on my story.” Ellie flashes a freckly grin. “Which means he remembered organically. Which already makes him better than He Who Shall Not Be Named.”

“Oh.” She laughs a little. “I guess you’re right. Yeah.” Her ex from freshman year, Devin, was notorious for a number of things, among them forgetting her birthday. Ellie plotted his murder on the regular.

Me: Thank you!💜💜💜

Me: And good morning! I hope you slept well, despite being awake at midnight…

Cole texts her back during breakfast, by which point her day is already pretty much going. She gathers with Ellie and their small circle of friends, mostly hallmates from last year they bonded with really well in the shared terror of freshman housing. They occupy the same table at the dining hall every time they get breakfast, and today, Niamh and Hannah from across the hall bring her a plastic crown and a purple balloon to tie to the back of her chair.

She doesn’t wear the crown to her 10:30 class, tempting as it is. On her way there, she texts Cole again. He’s being cryptic in a cute way, and it’s exciting.

9:04 AM

Cole💕🎶: thankfully yes, i did sleep well, i hope you did too :)

Cole💕🎶: you’re free at 4:30, right?

10:18 AM

Me: Yes!

Me: Why do you ask?

Cole💕🎶: i reserve the right to let you wait to find out

Cole💕🎶: but

Cole💕🎶: you should meet me in the orchard around then

Cole💕🎶: if you want

Me: Omg

Me: Of course I want!🥰🥰

Me: You’re making me excited!

Cole💕🎶: good!

Cole💕🎶: you deserve a good day

Cole💕🎶: ❤️

Me: You’re so sweet🥰🥰🥰🥰

Cole💕🎶: hahaha

Cole💕🎶: have fun in linguistics!!

Me: I will!!💜

She winds up being soft over him for pretty much the whole morning, which is definitely cheesy, but it’s all in the privacy of her head, so nobody needs to know. She runs into Reid at lunch, who does her the hilarious honor of (loudly, badly) singing Happy Birthday and getting a good percentage of the dining hall to join in. In her afternoon theatre class, she hangs out with Zelie, her favorite senior, and then walks out of class to a funny post her brother made for her on Instagram. The sun is still warm, and everything is good.

So it’s already a good day. And then Cole makes it better.

She walks up through campus toward the orchard at 4:30. She’s wearing her favorite outfit, which is maybe not the most important detail but still makes her feel good. It’s a lavender blouse with a black skirt, and fun floral-patterned purple tights. Her flats are maybe not the most sensible choice for walking in the orchard, but at least she doesn’t have to go that far.

Because when she gets to the actual orchard, Cole is already in sight; he’s sitting under a tree. The sight of him alone is enough to make her face warm, and it just gets easier to blush when he raises a hand over his head and waves.

She waves, too, and takes in the sight. Cole has spread a blanket out on the grass, and he has a small grocery bag to one side and his guitar case to the other. There’s a white box next to the grocery bag, and a small bundle of purple irises on top of the box. He’s in a green beanie and a flannel with plaid in the same color, and his smile is soft. “Hey,” he says, as she stops by his blanket. “Happy, uh— happy birthday.”

“Cole,” she laughs, and drops down to sit across from him. “What’s— did you set all this up for me?”

“Well— yeah.” Cole half laughs, as he nods, and pushes his rounded glasses up the bridge of his nose. He is entirely too cute to handle, and Claire is going to melt. “I had a little help, but yeah.” He pauses, shifts the way he’s sitting, and then grabs the flowers. “These— may or may not be stolen from campus grouds, but—”

“They’re beautiful,” she says, before he can finish, and takes them when he holds them out for her. They’re her favorite color, soft purple, and she laughs as she adds, “I think I know exactly where you stole them from, too,” because they look an awful lot like the flowers in the garden outside the student center.

“Just don’t tell campus security,” Cole mumbles.

“I would never.” She puts a hand to her heart, and knows she’s still smiling like a big sap when she meets his eyes. “Thank you. You’re so sweet. These are going in my room.”

“You’re welcome.” His voice is soft, and he’s smiling right back. For good measure, she leans across the blanket to close the small distance between them, and kisses his cheek. This, as it often does, turns his entire face pink. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t do it on purpose, for that reaction. “Uh,” he adds, as the blush floods his cheeks. “So I brought some stuff.”

“It looks like it!” She leans back, to survey the scene on the blanket again. “You did all this by yourself?”

Cole shrugs, gently, and murmurs, “I… may have had a little help. Reid told me this is a good spot for a picnic, but I did the rest.”

“He’s a man of wisdom,” she muses, regarding Reid, and then, as Cole reaches into the grocery bag, adds, “But you are a very sweet boyfriend, and for that I’m very grateful.”

Cole is still blushing, as he roots around in the grocery bag. “Let, uh— let me explain, and then we can eat.”

He walks her through the small assortment of items in the bag— sandwiches on the good, fresh bread from the dining hall, and snacks he bought at the grocery store. The white box has cupcakes inside, but not just any cupcakes— purple cupcakes, with cream cheese frosting, from the bakery in town she loves. She’s about ready to fly in her joy as he explains this to her, rocking back and forth gently as he speaks. “I know there’s a lot,” he says, “but, uh, I thought you could always have the extras some other day. And maybe Ellie would want one?”

“These are my favorite,” she cries, which he obviously knows, because he bought them for her birthday in the first place. “You’re the actual best person alive. Did you know that?”

Cole shrugs. His hair, wispy and light brown, is blowing gently where it sticks out from under his beanie. With the blush under his glasses, and the small smile on his face, he couldn’t be cuter. Claire is sure of it. “I mean,” he mumbles, all bashful and sheepish. “It is your birthday.”

Which is true. But he’s still totally outdone himself. And that’s before he pulls out his guitar.

She eyes it while they eat, but doesn’t ask. She figures he brought it out here for some reason, and he’ll eventually explain, which she turns out to be right about. It would be lying, though, to say that, as they eat, she’s not secretly hoping he’ll serenade her. Cole’s guitar is sort of the whole reason she started liking him in the first place. Not the actual guitar itself, but the way he is when he plays it. He’s super talented, and super cute when he does it, and she first started to notice him when she first heard him play.

So she waits. Patiently. More than a little excitedly. They eat the food he packed, and she tells him about her classes, about her breakfast with the girls, about her serenade from Reid and his impromptu backup singers. The sun shines warm on her shoulders, and he tells her she looks pretty. It’s more than enough to give her butterflies.

She’s eating a cupcake when the guitar finally gets brought up. It’s after a pause in conversation, while she pulls the wrapper off of the cupcake and he takes a deep breath. He’s fidgeting with his hands in his lap, a sign he’s thinking. When he speaks, he’s looking down at his hands. “So, um.”

Claire waits. She puts the cupcake down on a napkin, and nods. “You okay?”

“Oh, I’m— yeah. I’m fine.” Cole’s laugh is gentle, and nervous. He nods, and then takes a deep breath for a second time. “I, uh… I was going to write you a card,” he starts. “I know that’s sort of, like. A thing people do.” He pauses. “But, uh… well… okay, I tried to write a card. Or, like, something like that. But I realized…” He fixes his beanie, and then takes a deep breath for a third time before he finally blurts a bunch of words out at once. “I’m… not good with words in that way, and I honestly, like, I don’t know how to write down the way I feel when I’m with you.”

The butterflies are at it again. Claire knows she’s smiling at him. She might even be blushing, too. And it just gets easier to smile and blush and all that jazz when Cole finishes his ramble with, “So I, uh… I wrote you a song?”

He reaches sideways for his guitar. The case is undone, so all he has to do is throw the top open. “You did?” she asks, because in that moment, she can’t even find the words for the excitement.

“I, uh— yeah.” Cole rests his hand on the neck of his guitar. It’s maybe the most beautiful instrument Claire has ever seen, except her own flute, but she’s sort of biased towards the latter. Cole still looks hesitant, still red in the face. “Is that weird?”

“Oh, my God, no,” she laughs, and shakes her head as she leans forward. “Cole, that’s— that’s maybe the sweetest gesture anyone’s ever done for me?”

“Well,” he laughs, “maybe don’t speak so soon. You haven’t heard the song yet.”

“I’ve heard your other songs.” She could kiss him. She wants to kiss him. She has done that before, a good number of times considering they’ve been together for two months. But right now, she especially wants to. “I can’t even— Cole.” She puts both hands over her face and laughs. “You’re the sweetest boy.”

Cole laughs, too; it’s the same bashful noise she’s gotten so fond of with him. Gingerly, he pulls his guitar from its case, and settles it into his lap. One test strum of a G chord, and she is positive she is going to combust with all the softness.

“Sorry, I, uh—” Cole stops strumming, and shakes his head. “I’ve never actually, uh, played someone a song I wrote them before? Especially not, like, a girlfriend.” He winces at himself. “So this is sort of new for me, and I’m, uh— a little embarrassed.”

“Oh, my God,” she murmurs. “Please do not be embarrassed.”

She guesses that’s enough for him, because he takes another of those huge breaths, and with that, he plays her the sweetest song she’s ever heard.

It’s like watching a little concert that was meant just for her. The lyrics are soft like a love song on the radio; his guitar sound is just… well, there’s nothing like it. In the entire world. Claire is blushing like crazy, and the best part is that he is, too, right through the whole thing, as he looks down at his guitar and sneaks her smiles between verses. When he finishes, she wishes she’d made a voice memo of it on her phone or something. Something to hold onto.

“There is no way,” she breathes, as the last chord hangs in the air, “that you’re a real person.”

Cole laughs, doubling over his guitar. He’s the cutest boy in the world. “I really hope I’m a real person,” he replies, and she wastes no more time. She lunges across the blanket, takes care not to knock the guitar off of him, and grabs his face to kiss him gently. When he smiles against her lips, she thinks her heart is literally going to fly.

How is this happening to her.

“That was so sweet,” she tells him, when she’s looking into his eyes, hazel and dazed behind those cute glasses. “I don’t even know how to thank you.”

“That was a thank you,” Cole breathes, and then adds, “Happy birthday.”

Claire laughs. She presses to his forehead, and then kisses him again.

This is, by far, the cherry on top of the best birthday she’s ever had.

#does claire need a tag?#actually he's cole #claire/cole #sappy prompts #ficlet #kiersey college #kiersey drama club #mel writes

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mithranqueersmusings · 4 years ago

Text

The Night Before XII

Chapter: 12/15

Rating: U

Summary: Ringo hangs around after the club closes and meets a stranger.

Tags: Smut, Slow Burn

Pairing: George Harrison/Ringo Starr (Background McLennon)

AO3 link here / Fic masterlist here

The following day was spent rather unproductively, Ringo hardly moved from his bed and refused to get dressed into anything decent. Paul and John had left early, they could easily tell when Ringo wanted to left alone, but they ensured that at least one of them would be available should Ringo need anything at all. Last night hardly felt tangible, but the grogginess of Ringo's mind and the overhanging sadness made it difficult to forget. He wasn't entirely sure what he felt so bummed out about: was it merely the pain he felt to see George with another man? Or was it the sheer humiliation Ringo had experienced, having to expose his feelings to George in such an unappealing way? Perhaps it was a mixture of both, but he was determined to only let it sully this single day for tomorrow held endless possibilities and he truly believed that the date with George would still go fairly well, even with all this tension now risen to the surface.

Sometimes it was nice to have days like this, comfortably lounging around in pyjamas with no real objectives in mind. Ringo channelled out any lasting aggression he was harbouring by blasting music on his speakers, just about loud enough to stop himself from thinking. He had more than several comfort films to watch, many of which starred his favourite actor Peter Sellers, to make the time fly by without much thought. Throughout the day he conversed sparsely with John and Paul, neither of them addressing the actual events of last night but their concerned tones were enough of an allusion.

He treated himself to some pizza for dinner, settling down in front of his television and letting the hours pass. These days of nothingness were necessary, especially with the amount of excitement he'd been unwillingly plagued with this past week. Part of him debated not even bothering to get into bed, just to gradually pass into unconsciousness on his sofa, but the mature section of his mind - one which was often ignored - convinced him to tuck himself into the covers and let sleep wash over him.

Ringo gladly slept well into the afternoon, the only thing getting him out of bed was his growling stomach. Reaching for his phone he swiped away a variety of meaningless notifications then paused when he noticed a text from George. His mixed feelings were considerably less tangled than they had been previously, but there was still a hint of dread in his stomach when he thought about him.

Look outside your door.

It was sent a couple of hours ago, Ringo worried he'd missed whatever surprise had been waiting for him. He didn't appreciate the cryptic tone, nonetheless he padded over to the front of his flat and cautiously opened the door. Sitting before him was a vase sporting a diverse bouquet of flowers, Ringo wasn't even sure he could name half of them. He looked at it for a while, registering how to fit this in with his torn attitude towards George, and noticed a small card perked upon one of the leaves; he picked it up and inspected it closely.

First of many treats I have planned for tonight. I hope your hangover isn't too bad and you aren't regretting giving me another chance.

Ringo found himself smiling, he must have looked rather odd standing in nothing but his boxers and socks clutching onto this card for longer than he needed to. The thought of one of his neighbours seeing him in this precarious situation spurred him to take the vase inside and shut the door behind him, he inhaled the fresh smell deeply as he brought them into the kitchen to find an adequate placement. He couldn't deny how beautiful they looked, as much as his pessimism wanted to convince him that this was merely a disingenuous ploy. It was difficult to hold onto the resentment, Ringo found himself leaning more towards the attitude that it was merely an extremely unfortunate situation and that George had never intended on hurting him. What use was there in holding onto the past?

Drinking his morning cup of tea, Ringo stared at the flowers before he realised he should probably respond to George's text.

sorry i only just woke up the flowers are gorgeous thank you so much

You're welcome It's the least I can do really There's plenty more where that came from

flowers or surprises??

Both Just you wait

havent got much a choice have i?

I can pick up you around 7 Does that work for you?

it sure does

Ringo debated whether to send another text, he really wanted to clear the air completely but wondered whether it would be better to do it in person. The last thing he wanted was for the whole night to feel like George was having to make it up to him, rather than it being an enjoyable night for the both of them. He understood George's guilt completely, but it would no doubt make him feel rather ridiculous with the forced nature of it all. If only things could just go back to normal, was that too much to ask? He let out a sigh, drafting out a message and staring at it for a while.

i dont want this to come across as harsh or ungrateful or anything but could we leave out any conversation about last night?? i just want to have a good time and not think about that stupid stuff

Impulsively, Ringo sent it without much further thought. He knew it wasn't the most coherent or effective way of getting across his jumbled thought process but the last thing he needed was even more stress seeping into today.

Last night? What happened last night? I was at home didn't step outside for a second

you're right how silly of me must have you confused for someone else

Ringo felt relief washing over him, a grin spreading across his face as he continued to stare at the message from George. Perhaps tonight wouldn't be as stressful as he'd originally anticipated, he'd almost forgotten how at ease George was able to make him feel.

Now arrived the age old dilemma: what on Earth was he meant to wear? He probably should've asked how upscale the place was that George had picked out for them, he didn't want to risk dressing up too much and looking like a fool. Not that Ringo had a great array of formal clothes to choose from, he wasn't one to frequent snobbish establishments if he could help it. He emptied out almost his entire wardrobe, tossing clothes behind him into barely distinguishable piles like he was starring in a teen movie. It took far longer than necessary to narrow down his choices, eventually settling on a navy jumper and some dark trousers. Looking at himself in the mirror he realised there was no way this outfit reflected the amount of time he'd spent choosing it, but the last thing Ringo was about to do was spend more time agonising over something that no doubt didn't matter much at all.

His stomach started rumbling while he waited for George to arrive, he only hoped the food would be appealing. Ringo had a reputation for being a picky eater, not that he could necessarily help it with his endless list of allergies. He found himself worrying that wherever they went Ringo wouldn't be able to eat anything and it would spiral the entire date into disaster. Exactly where this paranoia came from he didn't know, he only hoped it would disappear as soon as he laid eyes on George.

When the long-awaited text finally arrived, Ringo grabbed his jacket and hurried down the stairs. If he didn't eat soon he felt like he was going to pass out, he knew that wasn't truly the case but he couldn't deny that it felt that way. George beamed at him through the glass window, Ringo reciprocated the grin without it feeling even the slightest bit forced. Everything felt normal, thank goodness.

"Don't you look dashing?" George spoke first, a playful tone in his voice.

"Why thank you." Ringo stepped out of the building "I wasn't quite sure what to wear, if I'm being honest."

George was sporting a dark green turtleneck, on top of which he wore a black chequered blazer with trousers to match. It was the most dressed up Ringo had ever seen him, and it was a pleasant sight to say the least.

"Well you look great." George reassured him "Now, I'm absolutely starving so let's get a move on."

They slid into George's car, Ringo felt a little strange to not be the one doing the driving. As they began pulling out onto the main road, Ringo felt his phone buzz in his pocket. Trying to be polite, he decided to ignore it, it was likely only Paul or John wishing him good luck on his date. Neither of them spoke much as they drove, they'd have plenty of time to talk once they got to the restaurant. George hummed to himself rather quietly, Ringo wasn't sure he was even aware he was doing it. After several minutes, George's hand gradually moved away from the steering wheel and onto Ringo's thigh; he never turned to look at him, his eyes fixed firmly on the road ahead. Experimentally he began rubbing his thumb on the fabric of Ringo's trousers, it was a sweet gesture that Ringo appreciated. Ringo gathered the courage to press it one step further, sliding his own hand underneath and interlocking their fingers together. Once again George didn't turn, but a small smile spread on his face. Ringo wasn't sure this was exactly the safest way to drive, but it helped relax his nerves a little.

Not too much time had passed before they'd arrived at their destination, a rather small building with a cosy looking interior. George turned the ignition off but neither of them made any further movements, sat firmly in their seats with their hands still clasped together. The muffled sound of the bustling city outside the car overpowered any potential awkward silence, Ringo was afraid to move lest he ruined the moment.

"You ready to go inside?" George asked, his voice far quieter than necessary, finally turning to face Ringo.

Ringo nodded, hopefully managing to hide his disappointment as George's hand slipped away. They both stepped outside of the car and made their way towards the restaurant, it was pretty packed but fortunately George had booked a table for the both of them. Anxiety began to creep into Ringo's mind as they were guided to their seats, he hadn't been on a proper date like this for so long, he felt like he'd forgotten how to make regular conversation. Yet sitting down across from George made all those worries disappear, all he needed was the smallest amount of eye contact and he felt safe once again.

"You like wine?" George asked, perusing the drinks menu.

"I can't lie, I'm not a fan." Ringo didn't want to risk sounding rude.

"How about a cocktail or something? Just don't look at the prices." George chuckled "Whatever you want, my treat."

"I'd love a Sex on the Beach, if you're offering." Ringo said rather sheepishly.

"Last time I checked Liverpool didn't have any beaches." George feigned a quizzical expression "I think I'll have one too."

The drinks didn't take too long to arrive, Ringo felt relieved to get some alcohol in his body to help him relax. Although he was determined to not get too drunk tonight, it was about time he experienced George's company sober. The atmosphere of the restaurant was nice, rather homely, far less intimidating than the grand vision Ringo had conjured during one of his bouts of paranoia.

Everything just felt right, there was nowhere else he'd rather be or anyone else he'd rather be with. The gleam in George's eyes and the faint smile always barely hidden on his lips let Ringo know that he was feeling the exact same way.

#the beatles #Beatles #beatles fanfiction #beatles fanfic #george harrisonxringo starr #George Harrison/Ringo Starr #george harrisonxreader #ringo starr/george harrison #starrison

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uschangelings · 4 years ago

Text

Did you know that Agatha Christie wrote sci-fi??

“The Hound of Death” by Agatha Christie (short story)

It was from William P. Ryan, American newspaper correspondent, that I first heard of the affair. I was dining with him in London on the eve of his return to New York and happened to mention that on the morrow I was going down to Folbridge. He looked up and said sharply: ‘Folbridge, Cornwall?’ Now only about one person in a thousand knows that there is a Folbridge in Cornwall. They always take it for granted that the Folbridge, Hampshire, is meant. So Ryan’s knowledge aroused my curiosity. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Do you know it?’ He merely replied that he was darned. He then asked if I happened to know a house called Trearne down there. My interest increased. ‘Very well indeed. In fact, it’s to Trearne I’m going. It’s my sister’s house.’ ‘Well,’ said William P. Ryan. ‘If that doesn’t beat the band!’ I suggested that he should cease making cryptic remarks and explain himself.

‘Well,’ he said. ‘To do that I shall have to go back to an experience of mine at the beginning of the war.’ I sighed. The events which I am relating to took place in 1921. To be reminded of the war was the last thing any man wanted. We were, thank God, beginning to forget … Besides, William P. Ryan on his war experiences was apt, as I knew, to be unbelievably long-winded. But there was no stopping him now. ‘At the start of the war, as I dare say you know, I was in Belgium for my paper – moving about some. Well, there’s a little village – I’ll call it X. A one horse place if there ever was one, but there’s quite a big convent there. Nuns in white what do you call ’em – I don’t know the name of the order. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Well, this little burgh was right in the way of the German advance. The Uhlans arrived –’ I shifted uneasily. William P. Ryan lifted a hand reassuringly. ‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘This isn’t a German atrocity story. It might have been, perhaps, but it isn’t. As a matter of fact, the boot’s on the other leg. The Huns made for that convent – they got there and the whole thing blew up.’ ‘Oh!’ I said, rather startled. ‘Odd business, wasn’t it? Of course, off hand, I should say the Huns had been celebrating and had monkeyed round with their own explosives. But is seems they hadn’t anything of that kind with them. They weren’t the high explosive johnnies. Well, then, I ask you, what should a pack of nuns know about high explosive? Some nuns, I should say!’ ‘It is odd,’ I agreed. ‘I was interested in hearing the peasants’ account of the matter. They’d got it all cut and dried. According to them it was a slap-up one hundred per cent efficient first-class modern miracle. It seems one of the nuns had got something of a reputation – a budding saint – went into trances and saw visions. And according to them she worked the stunt. She called down the lightning to blast the impious Hun – and it blasted him all right – and everything else within range. A pretty efficient miracle, that! ‘I never really got at the truth of the matter – hadn’t time. But miracles were all the rage just then – angels at Mons and all that. I wrote up the thing, put in a bit of sob stuff, and pulled the religious stop out well, and sent it to my paper. It went down very well in the States. They were liking that kind of thing just then. ‘But (I don’t know if you’ll understand this) in writing, I got kinder interested. I felt I’d like to know what really had happened. There was nothing to see at the spot itself. Two walls still left standing, and on one of them was a black powder mark that was the exact shape of a great hound. ‘The peasants round about were scared to death of that mark. They called it the Hound of Death and they wouldn’t pass that way after dark. ‘Superstition’s always interesting. I felt I’d like to see the lady who worked the stunt. She hadn’t perished, it seemed. She’d gone to England with a batch of other refugees. I took the trouble to trace her. I found she’d been sent to Trearne, Folbridge, Cornwall.’ I nodded. ‘My sister took in a lot of Belgian refugees the beginning of the war. About twenty.’ ‘Well, I always meant, if I had time, to look up the lady. I wanted to hear her own account of the disaster. Then, what with being busy and one thing and another, it slipped my memory. Cornwall’s a bit out of the way anyhow. In fact, I’d forgotten the whole thing till your mentioning Folbridge just now brought it back.’ ‘I must ask my sister,’ I said. ‘She may have heard something about it. Of course, the Belgians have all been repatriated long ago.’

‘Naturally. All the same, in case your sister does know anything I’ll be glad if you pass it on to me.’ ‘Of course I will,’ I said heartily. And that was that.

II. It was the second day after my arrival at Trearne that the story recurred to me. My sister and I were having tea on the terrace. ‘Kitty,’ I said, ‘didn’t you have a nun among your Belgians?’ ‘You don’t mean Sister Marie Angelique, do you?’ ‘Possibly I do,’ I said cautiously. ‘Tell me about her.’ ‘Oh! my dear, she was the most uncanny creature. She’s still here, you know.’ ‘What? In the house?’ ‘No, no, in the village. Dr Rose – you remember Dr Rose?’ I shook my head. ‘I remember an old man of about eighty-three.’ ‘Dr Laird. Oh! he died. Dr Rose has only been here a few years. He’s quite young and very keen on new ideas. He took the most enormous interest in Sister Marie Angelique. She has hallucinations and things, you know, and apparently is most frightfully interesting from a medical point of view. Poor thing, she’d nowhere to go – and really was in my opinion quite potty – only impressive, if you know what I mean – well, as I say, she’d nowhere to go, and Dr Rose very kindly fixed her up in the village. I believe he’s writing a monograph or whatever it is that doctors write, about her.’ She paused and then said: ‘But what do you know about her?’ ‘I heard a rather curious story.’ I passed on the story as I had received it from Ryan. Kitty was very much interested. ‘She looks the sort of person who could blast you – if you know what I mean,’ she said. ‘I really think,’ I said, my curiosity heightened, ‘that I must see this young woman.’ ‘Do. I’d like to know what you think of her. Go and see Dr Rose first. Why not walk down to the village after tea?’

I accepted the suggestion. I found Dr Rose at home and introduced myself. He seemed a pleasant young man, yet there was something about his personality that rather repelled me. It was too forceful to be altogether agreeable. The moment I mentioned Sister Marie Angelique he stiffened to attention. He was evidently keenly interested. I gave him Ryan’s account of the matter. ‘Ah!’ he said thoughtfully. ‘That explains a great deal.’ He looked up quickly at me and went on. ‘The case is really an extraordinarily interesting one. The woman arrived here having evidently suffered some severe mental shock. She was in a state of great mental excitement also. She was given to hallucinations of a most startling character. Her personality is most unusual. Perhaps you would like to come with me and call upon her. She is really well worth seeing.’ I agreed readily. We set out together. Our objective was a small cottage on the outskirts of the village. Folbridge is a most picturesque place. It lies at the mouth of the river Fol mostly on the east bank, the west bank is too precipitous for building, though a few cottages do cling to the cliffside there. The doctor’s own cottage was perched on the extreme edge of the cliff on the west side. From it you looked down on the big waves lashing against the black rocks. The little cottage to which we were now proceeding lay inland out of the sight of the sea. ‘The district nurse lives here,’ explained Dr Rose. ‘I have arranged for Sister Marie Angelique to board with her. It is just as well that she should be under skilled supervision.’ ‘Is she quite normal in her manner?’ I asked curiously. ‘You can judge for yourself in a minute,’ he replied, smiling. The district nurse, a dumpy pleasant little body, was just setting out on her bicycle when we arrived. ‘Good evening, nurse, how’s your patient?’ called out the doctor. ‘She’s much as usual, doctor. Just sitting there with her hands folded and her mind far away. Often enough she’ll not answer when I speak to her, though for the matter of that it’s little enough English she understands even now.’ Rose nodded, and as the nurse bicycled away, he went up to the cottage door, rapped sharply and entered. Sister Marie Angelique was lying in a long chair near the window. She turned her head as we entered. It was a strange face – pale, transparent looking, with enormous eyes. There seemed to be an infinitude of tragedy in those eyes. ‘Good evening, my sister,’ said the doctor in French. ‘Good evening, M. le docteur.’ ‘Permit me to introduce a friend, Mr Anstruther.’ I bowed and she inclined her head with a faint smile. ‘And how are you today?’ inquired the doctor, sitting down beside her. ‘I am much the same as usual.’ She paused and then went on. ‘Nothing seems real to me. Are they days that pass – or months – or years? I hardly know. Only my dreams seem real to me.’ ‘You still dream a lot, then?’ ‘Always – always – and, you understand? – the dreams seem more real than life.’ ‘You dream of your own country – of Belgium?’ She shook her head. ‘No. I dream of a country that never existed – never. But you know this, M. le docteur. I have told you many times.’ She stopped and then said abruptly: ‘But perhaps this gentleman is also a doctor – a doctor perhaps for the diseases of the brain?’ ‘No, no.’ Rose said reassuring, but as he smiled I noticed how extraordinarily pointed his canine teeth were, and it occurred to me that there was something wolf-like about the man. He went on: ‘I thought you might be interested to meet Mr Anstruther. He knows something of Belgium. He has lately been hearing news of your convent.’ Her eyes turned to me. A faint flush crept into her cheeks. ‘It’s nothing, really,’ I hastened to explain. ‘But I was dining the other evening with a friend who was describing the ruined walls of the convent to me.’ ‘So it is ruined!’ It was a soft exclamation, uttered more to herself than to us. Then looking at me once more she asked hesitatingly: ‘Tell me, Monsieur, did your friend say how – in what way – it was ruined?’ ‘It was blown up,’ I said, and added: ‘The peasants are afraid to pass that way at night.’ ‘Why are they afraid?’ ‘Because of a black mark on a ruined wall. They have a superstitious fear of it.’ She leaned forward. ‘Tell me, Monsieur – quick – quick – tell me! What is that mark like?’ ‘It has the shape of a huge hound,’ I answered. ‘The peasants call it the Hound of Death.’ ‘Ah!’ A shrill cry burst from her lips. ‘It is true then – it is true. All that I remember is true. It is not some black nightmare. It happened! It happened!’ ‘What happened, my sister?’ asked the doctor in a low voice. She turned to him eagerly. ‘I remembered. There on the steps, I remembered. I remembered the way of it. I used the power as we used to use it. I stood on the altar steps and I bade them to come no farther. I told them to depart in peace. They would not listen, they came on although I warned them. And so –’ She leaned forward and made a curious gesture. ‘And so I loosed the Hound of Death on them . . .’ She lay back on her chair shivering all over, her eyes closed. The doctor rose, fetched a glass from a cupboard, half-filled it with water, added a drop or two from a little bottle which he produced from his pocket, then took the glass to her. ‘Drink this,’ he said authoritatively. She obeyed – mechanically as it seemed. Her eyes looked far away as though they contemplated some inner vision of her own. ‘But then it is all true,’ she said. ‘Everything. The City of the Circles, the People of the Crystal – everything. It is all true.’ ‘It would seem so,’ said Rose. His voice was low and soothing, clearly designed to encourage and not to disturb her train of thought. ‘Tell me about the City,’ he said. ‘The City of Circles, I think you said?’ She answered absently and mechanically. ‘Yes – there were three circles. The first circle for the chosen, the second for the priestesses and the outer circle for the priests.’ ‘And in the centre?’ She drew her breath sharply and her voice sank to a tone of indescribable awe. ‘The House of the Crystal . . .’ As she breathed the words, her right hand went to her forehead and her finger traced some figure there. Her figure seemed to grow more rigid, her eyes closed, she swayed a little – then suddenly she sat upright with a jerk, as though she had suddenly awakened. ‘What is it?’ she said confusedly. ‘What have I been saying?’ ‘It is nothing,’ said Rose. ‘You are tired. You want to rest. We will leave you.’ She seemed a little dazed as we took our departure. ‘Well,’ said Rose when we were outside. ‘What do you think of it?’ He shot a sharp glance sideways at me. ‘I suppose her mind must be totally unhinged,’ I said slowly. ‘It struck you like that?’ ‘No – as a matter of fact, she was – well, curiously convincing. When listening to her I had the impression that she actually had done what she claimed to do – worked a kind of gigantic miracle. Her belief that she did so seems genuine enough. That is why –’ ‘That is why you say her mind must be unhinged. Quite so. But now approach the matter from another angle. Supposing that she did actually work that miracle – supposing that she did, personally, destroy a building and several hundred human beings.’ ‘By the mere exercise of will?’ I said with a smile. ‘I should not put it quite like that. You will agree that one person could destroy a multitude by touching a switch which controlled a system of mines.’ ‘Yes, but that is mechanical.’ ‘True, that is mechanical, but it is, in essence, the harnessing and controlling of natural forces. The thunder-storm and the power house are, fundamentally, the same thing.’ ‘Yes, but to control the thunderstorm we have to use mechanical means.’ Rose smiled. ‘I am going off at a tangent now. There is a substance called winter-green. It occurs in nature in vegetable form. It can also be built up by man synthetically and chemically in the laboratory.’ ‘Well?’ ‘My point is that there are often two ways of arriving at the same result. Ours is, admittedly, the synthetic way. There might be another. The extraordinary results arrived at by Indian fakirs for instance, cannot be explained away in any easy fashion. The things we call supernatural is only the natural of which the laws are not yet understood.’ ‘You mean?’ I asked, fascinated. ‘That I cannot entirely dismiss the possibility that a human being might be able to tap some vast destructive force and use it to further his or her ends. The means by which this was accomplished might seem to us supernatural – but would not be so in reality.’ I stared at him. He laughed. ‘It’s a speculation, that’s all,’ he said lightly. ‘Tell me, did you notice a gesture she made when she mentioned the House of the Crystal?’ ‘She put her hand to her forehead.’ ‘Exactly. And traced a circle there. Very much as a Catholic makes the sign of the cross. Now, I will tell you something rather interesting, Mr Anstruther. The word crystal having occurred so often in my patient’s rambling, I tried an experiment. I borrowed a crystal from someone and produced it unexpectedly one day to test my patient’s reaction to it.’ ‘Well?’ ‘Well, the result was very curious and suggestive. Her whole body stiffened. She stared at it as though unable to believe her eyes. Then she slid to her knees in front of it, murmured a few words – and fainted.’ ‘What were the few words?’ ‘Very curious ones. She said: “The Crystal! Then the Faith still lives!”’ ‘Extraordinary!’ ‘Suggestive, is it not? Now the next curious thing. When she came round from her faint she had forgotten the whole thing. I showed her the crystal and asked her if she knew what it was. She replied that she supposed it was a crystal such as fortune tellers used. I asked her if she had ever seen one before? She replied: “Never, M. le docteur.” But I saw a puzzled look in her eyes. “What troubles you, my sister?” I asked. She replied: “Because it is so strange. I have never seen a crystal before and yet – it seems to me that I know it well. There is something – if only I could remember . . .” The effort at memory was obviously so distressing to her that I forbade her to think any more. That was two weeks ago. I have purposely been biding my time. Tomorrow, I shall proceed to a further experiment.’ ‘With the crystal?’ ‘With the crystal. I shall get her to gaze into it. I think the result ought to be interesting.’ ‘What do you expect to get hold of?’ I asked curiously. The words were idle ones but they had an unlooked-for result. Rose stiffened, flushed, and his manner when he spoke changed insensibly. It was more formal, more professional. ‘Light on certain mental disorders imperfectly understood. Sister Marie Angelique is a most interesting study.’ So Rose’s interest was purely professional? I wondered. ‘Do you mind if I come along too?’ I asked. It may have been my fancy, but I thought he hesitated before he replied. I had a sudden intuition that he did not want me. ‘Certainly. I can see no ob jection.’ He added: ‘I suppose you’re not going to be down here very long?’ ‘Only till the day after tomorrow.’ I fancied that the answer pleased him. His brow cleared and he began talking of some recent experiments carried out on guinea pigs.

III. I met the doctor by appointment the following afternoon, and we went together to Sister Marie Angelique. Today, the doctor was all geniality. He was anxious, I thought, to efface the impression he had made the day before. ‘You must not take what I said too seriously,’ he observed, laughing. ‘I shouldn’t like you to believe me a dabbler in occult sciences. The worst of me is I have an infernal weakness for making out a case.’ ‘Really?’ ‘Yes, and the more fantastic it is, the better I like it.’ He laughed as a man laughs at an amusing weakness. When we arrived at the cottage, the district nurse had something she wanted to consult Rose about, so I was left with Sister Marie Angelique. I saw her scrutinizing me closely. Presently she spoke. ‘The good nurse here, she tells me that you are the brother of the kind lady at the big house where I was brought when I came from Belgium?’ ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘She was very kind to me. She is good.’ She was silent, as though following out some train of thought. Then she said: ‘M. le docteur, he too is a good man?’ I was a little embarrassed. ‘Why, yes. I mean – I think so.’ ‘Ah!’ She paused and then said: ‘Certainly he has been very kind to me.’ ‘I’m sure he has.’ She looked up at me sharply. ‘Monsieur – you – you who speak to me now – do you believe that I am mad?’ ‘Why, my sister, such an idea never –’ She shook her head slowly – interrupting my protest. ‘Am I mad? I do not know – the things I remember – the things I forget . . .’ She sighed, and at that moment Rose entered the room. He greeted her cheerily and explained what he wanted her to do. ‘Certain people, you see, have a gift for seeing things in a crystal. I fancy you might have such a gift, my sister.’ She looked distressed. ‘No, no, I cannot do that. To try to read the future – that is sinful.’ Rose was taken aback. It was the nun’s point of view for which he had not allowed. He changed his ground cleverly.

‘One should not look into the future. You are quite right. But to look into the past – that is different.’ ‘The past?’ ‘Yes – there are many strange things in the past. Flashes come back to one – they are seen for a moment – then gone again. Do not seek to see anything in the crystal since that is not allowed you. Just take it in your hands – so. Look into it – look deep. Yes – deeper – deeper still. You remember, do you not? You remember. You hear me speaking to you. You can answer my questions. Can you not hear me?’ Sister Marie Angelique had taken the crystal as bidden, handling it with a curious reverence. Then, as she gazed into it, her eyes became blank and unseeing, her head drooped. She seemed to sleep. Gently the doctor took the crystal from her and put it on the table. He raised the corner of her eyelid. Then he came and sat by me. ‘We must wait till she wakes. It won’t be long, I fancy.’ He was right. At the end of five minutes, Sister Marie Angelique stirred. Her eyes opened dreamily. ‘Where am I?’ ‘You are here – at home. You have had a little sleep. You have dreamt, have you not?’ She nodded. ‘Yes, I have dreamt.’ ‘You have dreamt of the Crystal?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Tell us about it.’ ‘You will think me mad, M. le docteur. For see you, in my dream, the Crystal was a holy emblem. I even figured to myself a second Christ, a Teacher of the Crystal who died for his faith, his followers hunted down – persecuted . . . But the faith endured. ‘Yes – for fifteen thousand full moons – I mean, for fifteen thousand years.’ ‘How long was a full moon?’ ‘Thirteen ordinary moons. Yes, it was in the fifteen thousandth full moon – of course, I was a Priestess of the Fifth Sign in the House of the Crystal. It was in the first days of the coming of the Sixth Sign . . .’ Her brows drew together, a look of fear passed over her face. ‘Too soon,’ she murmured. ‘Too soon. A mistake . . . Ah! yes, I remember! The Sixth Sign . . .’ She half sprang to her feet, then dropped back, passing her hand over her face and murmuring: ‘But what am I saying? I am raving. These things never happened.’ ‘Now don’t distress yourself.’ But she was looking at him in anguished perplexity. ‘M. le docteur, I do not understand. Why should I have these dreams – these fancies? I was only sixteen when I entered the religious life. I have never travelled. Yet I dream of cities, of strange people, of strange customs. Why?’ She pressed both hands to her head. ‘Have you ever been hypnotized, my sister? Or been in a state of trance?’ ‘I have never been hypnotized, M. le docteur. For the other, when at prayer in the chapel, my spirit has often been caught up from my body, and I have been as one dead for many hours. It was undoubtedly a blessed state, the Reverend Mother said – a state of grace. Ah! yes,’ she caught her breath. ‘I remember; we, too, called it a state of grace.’ ‘I would like to try an experiment, my sister.’ Rose spoke in a matter-of-fact voice. ‘It may dispel those painful half-recollections. I will ask you to gaze once more in the crystal. I will then say a certain word to you. You will answer another. We will continue in this way until you become tired. Concentrate your thoughts on the crystal, not upon the words.’ As I once more unwrapped the crystal and gave it into Sister Marie Angelique’s hands, I noticed the reverent way her hands touched it. Reposing on the black velvet, it lay between her slim palms. Her wonderful deep eyes gazed into it. There was a short silence, and then the doctor said: ‘Hound.’ Immediately Sister Marie Angelique answered ‘Death.’

IV. I do not propose to give a full account of the experiment. Many unimportant and meaningless words were purposely introduced by the doctor. Other words he repeated several times, sometimes getting the same answer to them, sometimes a different one. That evening in the doctor’s little cottage on the cliffs we discussed the result of the experiment. He cleared his throat, and drew his note-book closer to him. ‘These results are very interesting – very curious. In answer to the words “Sixth Sign,” we get variously Destruction, Purple, Hound, Power, then again Destruction, and finally Power. Later, as you may have noticed, I reversed the method, with the following results. In answer to Destruction, I get Hound; to Purple, Power; to Hound, Death, again, and to Power, Hound. That all holds together, but on a second repetition of Destruction, I get Sea, which appears utterly irrelevant. To the words “Fifth Sign,” I get Blue, Thoughts, Bird, Blue again, and finally the rather suggestive phrase Opening of mind to mind. From the fact that “Fourth Sign” elicits the word Yellow, and later Light, and that “First Sign” is answered by Blood, I deduce that each Sign had a particular colour, and possibly a particular symbol, that of the Fifth Sign being a bird, and that of the Sixth a hound. However, I surmise that the Fifth Sign represented what is familiarly known as telepathy – the opening of mind to mind. The Sixth Sign undoubtedly stands for the Power of Destruction.’ ‘What is the meaning of Sea?’ ‘That I confess I cannot explain. I introduced the word later and got the ordinary answer of Boat. To “Seventh Sign” I got first Life, the second time Love. To “Eighth Sign,” I got the answer None. I take it therefore that Seven was the sum and number of the signs.’ ‘But the Seventh was not achieved,’ I said on a sudden inspiration. ‘Since through the Sixth came Destruction!’ ‘Ah! You think so? But we are taking these – mad ramblings very seriously. They are really only interesting from a medical point of view.’ ‘Surely they will attract the attention of psychic investigators.’ The doctor’s eyes narrowed. ‘My dear sir, I have no intention of making them public.’ ‘Then your interest?’ ‘Is purely personal. I shall make notes on the case, of course.’ ‘I see.’ But for the first time I felt, like the blind man, that I didn’t see at all. I rose to my feet. ‘Well, I’ll wish you good night, doctor. I’m off to town again tomorrow.’ ‘Ah!’ I fancied there was satisfaction, relief perhaps, behind the exclamation. ‘I wish you good luck with your investigations,’ I continued lightly. ‘Don’t loose the Hound of Death on me next time we meet!’ His hand was in mine as I spoke, and I felt the start it gave. He recovered himself quickly. His lips drew back from his long pointed teeth in a smile. ‘For a man who loved power, what a power that would be!’ he said. ‘To hold every human being’s life in the hollow of your hand!’ And his smile broadened.

V. That was the end of my direct connection with the affair. Later, the doctor’s note-book and diary came into my hands. I will reproduce the few scant entries in it here, though you will understand that it did not really come into my possession until some time afterwards. Aug. 5th. Have discovered that by ‘the Chosen,’ Sister M.A. means those who reproduced the race. Apparently they were held in the highest honour, and exalted above the Priesthood. Contrast this with early Christians. Aug. 7th. Persuaded Sister M.A. to let me hypnotize her. Succeeded in inducing hypnoptic sleep and trance, but no rapport established. Aug. 9th. Have there been civilizations in the past to which ours is as nothing? Strange if it should be so, and I the only man with the clue to it . . . Aug. 12th. Sister M.A. not at all amenable to suggestion when hypnotized. Yet state of trance easily induced. Cannot understand it. Aug. 13th. Sister M.A. mentioned today that in ‘state of grace’ the ‘gate must be closed, lest another should command the body’. Interesting – but baffling. Aug. 18th. So the First Sign is none other than . . . (words erased here) . . . then how many centuries will it take to reach the Sixth? But if there should be a short-cut to Power . . . Aug. 20th. Have arranged for M.A. to come here with Nurse. Have told her it is necessary to keep patient under morphia. Am I mad? Or shall I be the Superman, with the Power of Death in my hands? (Here the entries cease) VI.

It was, I think, on August 29th that I received the letter. It was directed to me, care of my sister-in-law, in a sloping foreign handwriting. I opened it with some curiosity. It ran as follows: Cher Monsieur, I have seen you but twice, but I have felt I could trust you. Whether my dreams are real or not, they have grown clearer of late . . . And, Monsieur, one thing at all events, the Hound of Death is no dream . . . In the days I told you of (Whether they are real or not, I do not know) He who was Guardian of the Crystal revealed the Sixth Sign to the people too soon . . . Evil entered into their hearts. They had the power to slay at will – and they slew without justice – in anger. They were drunk with the lust of Power. When we saw this, We who were yet pure, we knew that once again we should not complete the Circle and come to the Sign of Everlasting Life. He who would have been the next Guardian of the Crystal was bidden to act. That the old might die, and the new, after endless ages, might come again, he loosed the Hound of Death upon the sea (being careful not to close the circle), and the sea rose up in the shape of a Hound and swallowed the land utterly . . . Once before I remembered this – on the altar steps in Belgium . . . The Dr Rose, he is of the Brotherhood. He knows the First Sign, and the form of the Second, though its meaning is hidden to all save a chosen few. He would learn of me the Sixth. I have withstood him so far – but I grow weak, Monsieur, it is not well that a man should come to power before his time. Many centuries must go by ere the world is ready to have the power of death delivered into its hand . . . I beseech you, Monsieur, you who love goodness and truth, to help me . . . before it is too late. Your sister in Christ, Marie Angelique I let the paper fall. The solid earth beneath me seemed a little less solid than usual. Then I began to rally. The poor woman’s belief, genuine enough, had almost affected me! One thing was clear. Dr Rose, in his zeal for a case, was grossly abusing his professional standing. I would run down and – Suddenly I noticed a letter from Kitty amongst my other correspondence. I tore it open. ‘Such an awful thing has happened,’ I read. ‘You remember Dr Rose’s little cottage on the cliff? It was swept away by a landslide last night, the doctor and that poor nun, Sister Marie Angelique, were killed. The debris on the beach is too awful – all piled up in a fantastic mass – from a distance it looks like a great hound . . .’ The letter dropped from my hand. The other facts may be coincidence. A Mr Rose, whom I discovered to be a wealthy relative of the doctor’s, died suddenly that same night – it was said struck by lightning. As far as was known no thunderstorm had occurred in the neighbourhood, but one or two people declared they had heard one peal of thunder. He had an electric burn on him ‘of a curious shape.’ His will left everything to his nephew, Dr Rose. Now, supposing that Dr Rose succeeded in obtaining the secret of the sixth Sign from Sister Marie Angelique. I had always felt him to be an unscrupulous man – he would not shrink at taking his uncle’s life if he were sure it could not be brought home to him. But one sentence of Sister Marie Angelique’s letter rings in my brain . . . ‘being careful not to close the Circle . . .’ Dr Rose did not exercise that care – was perhaps unaware of the steps to take, or even of the need for them. So the Force he employed returned, completing its circuit . . . But of course it is all nonsense! Everything can be accounted for quite naturally. That the doctor believed in Sister Marie Angelique’s hallucinations merely proves that his mind, too, was slightly unbalanced. Yet sometimes I dream of a continent under the seas where men once lived and attained to a degree of civilization far ahead of ours . . . Or did Sister Marie Angelique remember backwards – as some say is possible – and is this City of the Circles in the future and not in the past? Nonsense – of course the whole thing was merely hallucination!

#agatha christie #science fiction #early science fiction #early sci-fi #sci fi

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one-leaf-grimoire · 4 years ago

Text

Enough of Me to go Around

Okay here's that Julius x reader x Marx fic you guys wanted!!! You anons are thirsty lol. I’d love to hear what you think ;)

Chapter 1/3

Warning: VERY spicy, jealousy, angst, Marx has an existential crisis, etc,

Marx was a simple man, with a relatively simple life. He planned everything ahead of time so he could avoid any unexpected problems... even if working under Wizard King Julius Novachrono made that task nearly impossible. But Marx was used to it... his routine was comforting in that it was familiar. He woke up early, organized Julius's morning work, managed the other advisors, tracked down Julius when he inevitably ran away, gave up trying to find him and added more work to the pile, brought pots of coffee up while Julius scrambled late into the night to finish, and then finally ended the night with a warm bath. That was that, and he didn't have much time for anything else.

Of course, something would come along and upset his routine. This time... it was her.

"Ach! I'm so sorry!" Marx had been hurrying around the castle frantically when he stupidly ran around the corner and ran into someone. Papers went flying and the person fell hard to the ground. Marx panicked and jumped up to offer them a hand. "Are you alright?! That was stupid of me! You're not hurt, are..."

The person took his hand and finally looked up, eyes meeting.

"...you..."

She was the most beautiful woman Marx had ever seen. Everything about her was perfect. Marx had never seen an angel, but this had to be pretty damn close.

"I'm alright! Thank you." He snapped out of it and pulled her to her feet. "I wasn't really looking where I was going either!" She let out a cheery laugh before looking around. "Ah, I dropped all my stuff..."

She turned around and bent over to gather her things, and Marx stood there, frozen, eyes admiring her figure. Is she new?! Why haven't I noticed her before?! Jeez, I need to pay more attention around here...

"Hello? Are you okay?"

Marx blinked and realized he'd been staring blankly at her as she talked. "Ah! Yes, yes, I'm quite fine. Er, I don't think we've met, I'm Marx." He extended his hand for her to shake.

Her eyes widened cutely at his words. "Marx? You're the Wizard King's top advisor, right? I've heard all about you!"

"Ah, you have?!" Marx gulped, a blush blossoming on his cheeks. "I-I'm flattered... but you know, it's really just a job." He laughed nervously and rubbed the back of his neck. "So, what about you?" She was wearing the same cloak as him, signifying that she, too, was an advisor of some sort.

"Oh, I just started working here!" she told him. "My magic is really convenient, and I've been working in the castle before, so Lord Julius asked me to work for him!"

Thank you, Julius! Marx thought as he nodded along. "Well... welcome to the team." He smiled, his heart still pounding from the encounter. "I'll see you around?"

"Definitely!" She gave him a bright smile before turning and walking off, his eyes following her the whole way.

"...oh god."

Marx had never been so scatterbrained in his entire life for the following week. That girl... he had never met someone so kind yet alluring. He would run into her at the strangest times, never able to have more than a short chat. Over those times, he learned that she was a couple years younger than him, came from a noble family, was an only child, and had an interesting magical attribute: Pocket Magic. She could put items into a pocket dimension that she carried around all the time and organize it as she pleased. She was right, it was very convenient!

Marx ran into her once as she was leaving Julius's office. He'd never seen her up there before and was a little surprised. "Oh! Fancy seeing you here!" she greeted, looking a bit worn out but still stunning.

"Indeed!" Marx brightened up the moment he saw her. "You alright?"

She nodded a little too quickly, brushing some hair out of her face. "Yeah! It's just been a long day."

Marx nodded, clutching his pile of papers a little closer to his chest. "Ah, well, don't let Julius work you too hard! He's always getting distracted from his own work."

They both laughed about it before parting ways, and Marx entered the room. Julius was in there, looking out the window and stretching one of his arms across his chest leisurely. He turned and smiled as he spotted his closest advisor. "There you are," the Wizard King greeted. "What's that?" He eyed the pile of papers.

"What do you think?" Marx set them down heavily on his desk, next to the other pile that had yet to be started. "Seriously, what have you been doing all afternoon?"

Julius shrugged, clearing his throat before turning away. "I haven't been wandering off, don't worry. I was just talking to that new advisor. Have you met?"

Marx perked up at the mere mention of the girl. "Yes! She's delightful."

"Isn't she?" Julius turned back to face him, smiling cryptically. "She's doing such a good job, too. I'm glad you two are getting along!"

After talking business for a few minutes, Julius pulled a bottle of wine from behind his desk. "Would you humor me and share a glass or two?" he asked. "I promise I'll get back to work afterwards."

Marx almost refused, but that was his favorite type of wine. "...I suppose."

The two men sat on the balcony as Julius poured the wine, holding up his glass in a toast. "Hmm... to the Cliver Kingdom?"

"And to the Wizard King," Marx added. They laughed before clinking their glasses together.

"You know, Marx..." Marx looked over to see Julius smiling at him, gentle and warm. For such a powerful man... Julius sure knew how to put someone at ease. Marx would sometimes get goosebumps from just being in his precense. "I couldn't do this without you. I hope you know how much I appreciate having you by my side."

For some reason, his words made Marx's heart flutter.

"...thank you, sir. That means a lot."

Those words stuck in Marx's brain all the way until he slipped into his bed that night and turned off his light. Julius praised me today... looks like all my work is paying off, finally. With a smile, he drifted off to sleep.

She came to him in his dreams, wrapping her arms around him and feeling up his chest. Marx, she whispered breathlessly, her face flushed and pretty. Please... stay with me!

Of course, love, Marx returned her embrace, allowing his hands to drift firmly over her wonderful curves. I'll stay and take care of you... I'll take care of you so good...

Their lips met, and their bodies descended into a heated furor of passion. He never wanted it to end, he never wanted to face the world again, all he wanted to feel was the pleasure he got from her body, such beautiful, white-hot pleasure-

With a gasp, he suddenly jolted awake, his own hand gripping himself firmly. He quickly let go and sat up, panting for breath. He was sweating, his hair and the sheets sticking to his body. Jesus Christ... Marx groaned and wiped his face with the back of his hand, blushing furiously even though he was alone. That was close... one more moment in that dream, and I would have soiled the bed. He sighed and flopped back down into the mattress, and couldn't help but smile to himself.

Marx had never been particularly good at romance, but something had changed. He felt a strange resolve now, to win that girl's heart and make his dream a reality. The whole next day he thought about it, gradually building up courage. This is it... I can feel it. Tonight, I'm going to track her down and ask her to have dinner with me! Every time we're together, I can taste the chemistry in the air. He sighed as he walked through the hallways by himself. Now, all I have to do is finish my work for the day. He was clutching the day's final report and was on his way to drop it off at Julius's office.

For the first time in a while, Marx felt completely sure of himself. More than anything, he was ready to have a life outside of work.

Those were the thoughts running through his head as he finally reached the office and pushed the door open. He only made it one step inside before freezing in his tracks. The final report slipped out of his hand and onto the floor.

Julius was not alone. The object of Marx's desire was in his arms, her noises swallowed up by a pair of roughly-kissing lips as she was fucked vigorously against the desk. Julius looked desheveled, almost desperate as they clutched at each other, neither one bothered to get fully undressed, but it was enough, enough to know exactly what was going on. Both of their eyes were closed, focused only on the passion of the moment.

Marx stood there for exactly a second and a half before coming to his senses. Without a sound, he backed up and ran off as fast as he possibly could. A moment later, the door clicked shut.

Julius immediately stopped and straightened up, looking back towards the door. "J-Julius?" He looked back down at her and gave a comforting smile. "I thought I heard something... but it's nothing." He leaned back down to kiss her worries away. "Don't worry, kitten. I won't let anything interrupt us."

Marx didn't stop running until he was in his room, and collapsed against the wall. He was breathing heavily, both from shock and from the disturbing spectacle he just witnessed. He gasped a few times, clutching his chest, as his panic finally subsided and his mind was able to think clearly again.

... did that really just happen?

Marx grit his teeth and one of his hands clenched into a fist as he let his shoulders slump. His first reaction was to feel anger, horrible, bitter anger. She was the first girl Marx had been interested in for a long time, and Julius swooped in to take her away? How dare he! And he treated her so roughly, too... the way he was making love, no, using her, she deserved so much better than that!

No... it's not his fault... and he's not using her, is he? Marx relaxed his hand, his brow furrowing as the realization washed over him. What am I supposed to expect? If she had to choose me or him... she obviously would choose him. He's Julius! He's perfect, kind, handsome... gah! Marx covered his face and sunk down into a chair, his hands trembling.

Of all of the people in the world... why did it have to be those two? Not even just one was taken away from me... they both chose each other over me.

Her flushed skin looked exactly how it did in his dream, and her moans...

And Julius... with the sweat dripping down his face, that power behind his movements...

What would two perfect people ever want to do with me, anyway?

"Are you sure you don't want to stay the night?"

"Thanks, but I have some stuff to do back home."

Julius watched as she straightened herself as best she could, a lazy smile on his face. "Alright... I'll see you tomorrow then." He leaned down to plant a kiss on her forehead as he opened the door for her. "Goodnight, kitten."

"Goodnight, Julius!"

Julius watched her walk off out of sight down the hall before letting out a heavy sigh. "Now, I have that pile of work to get to. Marx should be here with that report any minute..." His voice trailed off as she spotted something on the ground. He bent over and picked up the paper quickly, flipping it over to read it.

"Final Report for the day...

...oh... shit."

#spicy #julius x reader x marx

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soulangel · 5 years ago

Text

Celebrating with Oneus

Summary: The Oneus boys are celebrating their one year anniversary! Of course Angel would be there, both crashing the party, and making it bigger and better than before. She loves these boys so much, they’re her children

Group: Oneus x Angel

Genre: fluff, crachead dorkiness, amusements galore

Warnings: Nothing too serious I can think of

Main Masterlist Angel’s Masterlist

Sneaking into the back of the group right after they gave their opening speech, she grinned wide as Oneus happily started shouting about their 1 year anniversary. Just to keep up appearances, she started jumping around with them and then decided to tackle an unsuspecting Seoho who fell into Hwanwoong who yelped and jumped away from his hyung. “Yah! ANGEL!” They were shouting at once as she just laughed maniacally.

She was pulled off Seoho who happily took in a few extra breaths to calm his erratically beating heart, and was tackled into a hug herself. She squealed in surprise and grabbed on to Keonhee to make sure they both didn’t fall over. “Why hello Loves!” She giggled as she looked at each of their smiling faces.

For the next five minutes while on the vlive, she was wrapped around Keonhee and they were both gently rocking back and forth, her cheek pressed against his. At one point she even started to creepily stroke his hair while staring wide eyed at the camera to creep out people. "'Why is Angel touching Oppa like that?' Like what-Noona!" Dongju pouted over at her when he saw she was giving his hyung more attention than him.

She grinned smugly and squeezed tight around her child while sticking her tongue out at the maknae. "You're next Baby-Boy don't worry." She giggled.

'Is Unni dating one of the members and that's why she's around so much? GASP, is she dating RAVN???! They would be so cute together!!!!'

She blinked as Youngjo flushed a dark shade of red. “N-No we’re not dating! We’re all just friends! Sh-She’s a really good friend out ours and has been around s-since the weekly idol episode.” He stuttered out, hiding his face behind his hands when he was done because of how pathetic of an excuse it sounded like.

Róisín released Keonhee for a moment so she could walk over to the leader and wrap him up in a big hug, squealing at the adorableness that is him. “Oh man you’re so adorable!” She gushed, barely refraining herself from kissing his cheek until they were able to move the camera off their faces.

‘Noona is so pretty! Every time she’s in videos she’s a goddess! Marry me!’

Róisín chuckled and simply winked at the camera, giving out a couple of finger hearts. “As lovely as that comment is, today isn’t about me. It’s about my babies celebrating their 1st anniversary as Oneus! It should be about them today! Not me!” She replied to the comment, blowing a kiss to the camera right after.

To help her stay true to that comment, she moved behind the camera and gently took if off the stand it was on. Then made the decision that she would record the boys as they did their own thing so they wouldn’t have to stand in one spot the entire time. “Okay, here’s what we’ll do. Boys, what would you like to do now?” She asked them, smiling at them all behind the camera as they looked at her in slight confusion.

She then slowly started backing away from them, glancing behind her every couple seconds to make sure she wouldn’t accidentally trip over anything while recording the boys who started following after her in curiosity and concern. “Noona, don’t hurt yourself.” Dongju said softly, following directly behind her.

She giggled and nodded her head at him. “Don’t worry about me, I’m fine. Let’s get you guys out of this stuffy hallway.” She said cryptically, opening up the door to their dance studio.

She closed the door quickly and managed to rush to the other side of the room with the phone, mumbling to the people to bear with her for a second as she got herself situated, wanting to prepare for when the boys stepped through the door and get good shots of their faces. Once they were all stepping through the door, their jaws practically dropped to the floor in their surprise. “What the-how?” Some of them asked, looking around the room at the decorations.

Róisín managed to maneuver the phone so she was also in the shot, grinning happily at the camera and keeping an eye on the boys. “I may have spoken to your manager and asked to surprise you guys with a little something.” She said, accomplishment written all over her face.

The boys happily rushed around the room, looking at all the decorations and even checking out some of the snacks she’d managed to sneak in for them, gasps and squeals echoing around. “Isn’t this from America/! How’d you get it over here?!” Keonhee gasped out, holding up something small in his hands.

She giggled before setting the camera on another stand in the room, keeping it upright before she rushed over to her baby to tackle him into her arms again. Because if she wasn’t holding onto him then she had no way of living. “How else would I get it Love? Maeve.” She responded easily with a shrug.

Everyone knew about her mimi. They didn’t exactly know WHO she was, but the name always clicked in everyone’s minds similar to ‘oh if Maeve did it,’ or maybe ‘Maeve is the secret to everything.’ Róisín loved the fact that her mimi was getting as much recognition as she was through stories and comments alone. It was heartwarming that everyone took such a liking to the teachings Maeve had brought to her growing up. But enough about that woman, the look on Keonghee’s face when she said the name made her laugh out loud and shake in her amusement to the point she almost fell to the ground in a fit had Gunhak not been by her at the perfect moment.

She wrapped an arm around the guy and grinned at him, seeing the happily and boyish grin on his face at receiving this sort of a surprise from his noona. “Best day ever.” He mumbled into her ear, ignoring the whining of Keonhee beside him.

She smiled back as Gunhak then started walking away to go play some games with the others. While she was getting ready to follow him over, Keonhee wrapped himself up in her arms again so the two had to waddle over to the group. Hwanwoong was laughing at the way they were walking before she gave him a look and opened her arms up for him to join. He ran in without a second thought and made the two’s huddle into a three person hug. As they were up to their normal shenanigans, the other four were busy setting up the floor for whatever game it was they had in mind.

But before they were able to start the game, Youngjo looked over at the camera and gave it a large wave, which gained the attention of the others so they were all waving into the camera, saying their goodbyes. “Thank you for joining us on this brief moment of celebration! There will be more videos and photos later!” Róisín shouted over the rest of the group, smiling wide as Seoho rushed up to turn the camera off, blowing a kiss to the fans before he did so.

Once the camera was off and they didn’t have to keep up appearances, the whole room seemed to slump down with groans and some whines thrown in, while Róisín herself continued to prance around as if she were still on camera. “How do you have the energy to stay so….hyper?” Keonhee asked with a groan at seeing her twirling around in place.

She just smiled back and winked at him. “That’s my little secret, that you will learn soo enough my dear. Now then, who’s up for some REAL partying?” She asked, pulling out a secret stash hidden away under the table cloth so the viewers wouldn’t find it through the screen.

The whole group either cheered or laughed in excitement at the booze she held in her hand. Because what kind of celebration would it be if they weren’t able to drink and toast to it? She even bought something for Dongju who was still unable to drink alcohol with the rest of the group. “Here you go Love, I know it’s not like the good stuff, but I really don’t want to be THAT BAD of an influence on you.” She mumbled as soon as she saw the pout on his lips.

Youngjo was just sighing in relief at not having to put on a fake appearance and smiled only a little once he saw the interactions between her and the group. It was so natural, as if she’d been with them since the beginning. He was certainly grateful to her for being there for them through most of their hardships., especially ones where even he felt like giving up. Maybe that’s why she was so insistent on being around them; she knew how tough it was to be an idol, and she didn’t want them to bear the burden alone, like she mostly did. With that thought in mind, he grabbed some of the drinks from her and grinned wide at the group. “How about we change up the venue and take this back to the dorms? I’m sure Manager wouldn’t mind too much. Plus we would already be home in case something happened.” He suggested to everyone.

The collective nods he received from everyone gave him another wave of relief so he was able to sigh softly and then nod towards the room. “Okay, let’s pack this all up and clean up before leaving. Then we can go.” He called out, gaining 5 more sets of hands, and a very concerned redhead who tried sneaking her way out of the room.

She glanced down at the imaginary watch on her wrist and bit her lip, mentally counting seconds to make it seem as realistic as possible. “Oh, damn. Would you look at the time. I’ve gotta go...uh….feed my cats!” She suddenly shouted, running from the room and closing the door behind her quickly so she wouldn’t be chased down as fast.

Youngjo chased after her, hellbent on getting her to stay when he stopped in the hallway, wondering just what he was doing. Instead, he watched her as she grabbed out her phone and smiled a little at the screen. It took him a couple seconds to figure out something to do, and grabbed his own phone out quickly.

“Thanks again for what you did for us today. The guys really enjoyed the party even if you didn’t stick around for too long. I’ll see you around Beautiful.”

The moment he put his phone away he looked up to see her, and the reaction she gave was not one to disappoint. She smiled again at the screen and scrunched her nose a little before glancing around her to see if anyone was watching. Luckily he had enough sense to hide behind the wall so she couldn’t see him. What she did next definitely surprised him. She grabbed out a ring from her pocket, slid it onto her finger, put the ring next to her face while setting her phone screen up to take a photo. Then when she thought the shot looked good enough, snapped a photo and sent it off to him with a caption.

He checked his phone to see what the photo was and smiled as he saw her gorgeous smile, pink hues faintly dusting her cheeks as her hand was up in the pose of a peace sign, showing off the large ring she had on her finger she’d pulled out of her pocket moments before. He looked at it in surprise and then groaned when he realized it wasn’t on his hand anymore. She’d snatched his favorite ring! The one she gave him for Christmas!

“I’ll give it back to you when I know for certain we’ll hang out again. Let me know when you have time off! ;)”

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

Taglist: @kimgeonhak

#oneus #oneus au #oneus x angel #oneus imagines #oneus scenarios #oneus 1 year #oneus celebration #angel #all about angel #angel x oneus #kpop #kpop au #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #kpop angel #angel fluff #oneus fluff #skye.works #fluff

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delible-ink · 5 years ago

Text

Clayleb Week Day 2: Don’t Leave Me Alone

For: @claylebweek

Prompt: Battle Couple

"Stay together. I have a feeling this is the last place we want to get separated." Fjord called behind him to the rest of the group. Nott scouted beside him, having cracked the lock that opened the door into the next room.

The Mighty Nein had planned to shelter in these caves for the night when Caleb noticed a strange door hidden in the rock. Upon inspection, runes glowed blue, and he though he was cautious about their cryptic meaning, he couldn't help but follow his curiosity. Besides, he thought, we need to know what is in here if we are going to try to sleep next to it.

That had been an hour and forty-seven minutes ago.The stone opening had closed behind them, and Caleb was kicking himself for his damned curiosity.They'd already passed through what seemed to be some kind of gem mine, and into a marble hall that had strange constructions along the outer walls. They seemed like beds, though it was agreed to avoid trying to sleep in one. This room contained arrows firing from the pillars, a jar that when tipped released a poison gas, and several loose floor tiles that crumbled to reveal a pit of spokes. Now they found themselves some sort of treasury. It had been well guarded, even better than the room previous, but lucky for them Nott was sober enough to check for traps.

Caleb looked up at Caduceus, who had not-so-subtly slipped to the back where Caleb usually took point.

"There's something back there. I don't like it. Something dead that hasn't been allowed to sleep." Cad's voice was cold, and his eyes darkened. He was staring back into the marble hall.

"Should we leave?" Caleb surreptitiously took Caduceus' hand. He still felt secretive about their relationship. He felt as if keeping it quiet could protect what they had, but he had picked up almost immediately on how physical affection gave Caduceus comfort, and that was more important. Cad's eyes cleared and he wrapped his fingers around Caleb's.

"No. Whatever's down here, I want to put it to rest. Properly. Besides, I don’t think we can."

"There’s another door here! Look!" Nott screeched in gravelly delight. Another door, hidden in the wall, with a singular lock that their resident rogue (with some help from Jester) was managing admirably to pick.

A hiss of air signalled the release as the stone wall slid open. Caleb and Caduceus at the rear, the party filed in. But as soon as the first of them were over the threshold, something went wrong.

Caleb sensed magic on the other side of the door, and Caduceus turned behind them where something was moving in the marble hall. The door forward slammed shut, cutting Caleb and Caduceus off from the rest of the party. Caleb banged on the stone, a smooth wall once again, in sheer panic.

"NOTT! NOTT THE BRAVE, ANSWER ME! SCHEIßE."

"Mr. Caleb…" Cad's voice was soft and uneasy. Caleb turned to look at him but his eyes were fixed in the opposite direction. "I think we have our own problems."

Shambling towards them was a hoard of mummified corpses. Their bodies were wraithish, in varied states of decay, and there were dozens of them. From the other side of the stone wall behind them, they heard a horrific scream, something otherworldly and utterly chilling.

"Stay behind me." Cad growled, and Caleb made no move to argue it, other than to fling a fireball towards the first wave.

The fire worked better than Caleb had hoped, and for a while, he and Caduceus were holding their own, but Caleb but he feared it wouldn’t be enough. They hadn’t planned on seeing any battle today. Caduceus hadn’t prepared much in the way of attacks, and Caleb’s fire was running out. He was beginning to wish he hadn’t given Fjord his Glove of Blasting. Then again, whatever was happening on the other side of that wall, Fjord might need it.

Caleb’s mind was racing. This was foolish. Why couldn’t he just leave well enough alone? It was his fault they were trapped in here.

Six of the necrotic nightmares encircled Caleb as his frustration mounted. He felt his vision swim and cloud with fear, and then his head cleared, just in time to see Caduceus’ hand extended towards him, igniting with pale green energy as fey spirits sprang forth towards Caleb, devouring the charring remains of the mummified creatures Caleb was fighting, just in time for him to watch the last of the hoard fall on Caduceus.

“Cad--NO!” Caleb’s screams tore his throat as he hurled scorching rays at the creatures, making quick work of their much damaged bodies--but he was too late. He watched in horror as Caduceus fell. Using the last of his spells, Caleb sent up a wall of fire between Caduceus and the marble hall behind them. If there were more, this would buy them time.

Caleb tried to haul Caduceus’ limp body away from the flames and the burning bodies of the mummies. He could not hear anything from the room beyond, or the room behind him.

“Nein! Nein nein nein nein, bitte! Caduceus, bitte, laß mich nicht allein!”

The armor was too heavy for Caleb to move Caduceus so he unbuckled the breastplate and threw it aside, discovering underneath it a faint, beating glow. The periapt. Caleb gasped, and clutched the thing in his hand, his fist pressing hard against Cad’s chest. It worked. Now hold on, Caduceus. Please, hold on. Caleb begged internally as he reached into his coat and retrieved a healing potion.

“ Trink-- Drink it. Caduceus... Bitte.”

Caleb worked his jaw open, and tipped the potion into his mouth. For a moment nothing happened. No swallow. No change. Shallow breath, and nothing more.

Caleb Widogast was alone, surrounded by a wall of fire, holding the body of the man he loved.. He hadn’t told him. It was the wrong time, too early, or he was too scared, and now, because of his foolishness, his stupid curiosity, his selfish ambition, he never would.

Caleb pressed his lips to Caduceus’ forehead, as silent tears ran down his face.

“Was habe ich getan?”

Something stirred, a convulsion, and then a cough. Spluttering and trying to swallow the potion, Caduceus grabbed a fistfull of Caleb’s shirt. Cad didn’t let go, even when he caught his breath.

“Hey…” His voice was soft as if far away, but his eyes searched for Caleb. “Hey. I was wondering where you went.”

“Cad—” Caleb grabbed his face with both hands and kissed him soundly. “Caduceus I thought I lost you.”

“Caduceus reached for the pendant around his neck “You made sure you wouldn’t. Remember? I’m here. I’m here Caleb.”

Caleb covered Caduceus’ hand around pendant with his own, and cradled Caduceus’ body in his lap. “Then I won’t let you go.” Caleb brought Cad’s lips to his own, and kissed him as if he were the very air he breathed.

On the far side of the room, the wall swung open, and the Mighty Nein, looking worse for wear but laden with treasure, crowded the entrance.

“Hey are you guys okay? We just fought this craaaaazy mummy dude, and he’d hit people and I couldn’t heal him, and he had all these crazy curses, but then Yasha beat him to a pulp and Fjord set his heart on fire, and look! We got all this cool stuff! And--” Jester was talking a mile a minute until Nott put her hand out to stop her.

Beau grinned at the scene in front of them, but only because Caleb couldn’t see her. “Yeah, Jess. I think they’re okay.”

#clayleb #claylebweek2019 #battle couple

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madartiste · 5 years ago

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Deadly Fortune, Book 1, Chapters 1-5

So I started reading the only English translation I could find of the DMC4 “Deadly Fortune” novels to mine them for good character info. I have no idea if anyone else will be interested, but I’ll post the notes I’m taking here. Mostly this is just a retelling of the game, but there are scenes that aren’t shown and some interesting context/internal monologue things to be found. I skipped the first chapter because it was just Dante and Trish being cryptic, and I didn’t notice anything interesting. I’ll post more as I work my way through the novels.

The chapters are referred to as “stages.” Stuff in bold are things I found particularly interesting. Everything is under the cut because I’m a wordy fool and I didn’t want to drown anyone’s dashboard.

EDIT: Forgot the friggin link to where I found the translation: https://originaldmc.github.io/DivinityStatue/Downloads.html

Stage 02 (Pregame)

Kyrie visits Nero (he doesn't live with her). She sometimes brings little gifts to the knights in the barracks.

Nero doesn't know if his arm is poisoned or possessed

Kyrie is one year older, treats Nero like a kid when something bad happens

Kyrie hasn't sung in front of a big crowd before (though she has sung in church)

Attendance at the Festival of the Blade isn't mandatory, so Nero finds an excuse not to go every year -- except this one since Kyrie asks him if he's going and she's performing

Nero's arm was injured one month prior to the game. The demons were in the 'forests of the suburbs.' (Later he says it's Mitis forest, though when he describes getting to the scene he doesn't actually go that far?) Only three knights were sent because the ones that show up near the city are usually weak, but this time there were a lot of them. Nero isn't considered a 'team player,' and he thinks that he is about as far from being a hero as you can get, so he isn't given tasks like that.

Nero is given tasks that require him to work alone and thinks that even the order has secrets he wants to keep. His job is to deal with humans who've been possessed by demons that the Order thinks can't be saved. He is expected to kill them without a trace (OMG!). Basically, the Order doesn't want the people to lose faith in them if a devout follower is possessed by a demon. The people are told that Sparda will protect them, and if they knew the truth it would look bad for the Order. Nero says he isn't happy about killing people, but if no one else will do it, he will, since it's very difficult to save someone who's possessed. So Nero is basically a hit man jeeeeeeeeeeeez.

Another reason Nero is shunned is that he likes using guns. Being the 'Order of the Sword,' they place a huge emphasis on swords. Nero doesn't care about that -- if it kills demons, why not use it? -- and since there are no gunsmiths, he built Blue Rose himself. (He talks a lot about the gun a lot and why he chose a revolver too. Kid knows his guns, though he says he's not a 'serious gun expert.')

The 'dean of the Orphanage' where Nero was raised is an old lady named Sister Xista. (Nero comments that he knows she loves the orphans she works with.)

Kyrie was out in the forest with the orphans on an outing. Ah! She had come back from Mitis forest and was in the city when they got attacked by (30!) scarecrows. Nero runs along the rooftops to get there (and is really casual about it like a normal person could just vault up there and run).

The three knights are Josh (who dies -- poor Josh), Sagan, and Tonio (who seems to be in charge? He's also old fashioned, uncomfortable around Nero, and also 'obsessed with honor.').

Apparently Red Queen is so suped up that if Nero uses it too close to people he could accidentally burn them.

Nero likes that Kyrie is the type of person who would protect other people at the risk of herself but also kinda hates it since she could get hurt.

There's a very interesting passage where Nero thinks about how many of the knights want to become famous and are very into the legend of Sparda, but Nero feels they should be focusing more on the 'good heart of his struggle to protect humanity' part of the story. He also feels they should be less mad at him for jumping into the fight and stealing their thunder and instead comfort Kyrie and the children who were nearly killed.

An Assault pops in through a 'magic array' right behind Kyrie as she's trying to tend to Josh's wound. This is where the "Kyrie, run!" memory from when Nero blacks out in Agnus' lab comes in. Josh tries to defend her, but gets slashed up. His blood actually spatters on Kyrie's face, who is too stunned to react. Nero revvs Red Queen all the way up and jumps at the demon, can't block an attack which is how his arm gets hurt. He burns out the Exceed system so he can't really protect himself. Sagan and Tonio jump in to help while Josh gets Kyrie and the kids away. The demon chases them and injures a kid named Kelly and kills Josh. Nero finally takes it out with his gun.

One of the kids is named Gili.

The Order tries to hide the incident, but since a bunch of kids were involved, it's a bit hard. Josh was an orphan (like Nero), and all of the other adults were forbidden from talking about it. The whole thing seems to piss Nero of since Josh died and Kyrie was injured. He decides to try to get stronger, and apparently Sagan and Tonio have the same idea since they start training a lot.

Nero refers to a building called the 'Sword House' which used to be the Order's HQ until the 'new Faculty HQ' was built. Credo's office is still in the Sword House, and Nero tries to avoid making too much noise on the creaky stairs. Hahaha! Credo asks Nero "How are you so slow?" Credo's got a new mission for Nero -- Nero refers to it as 'dirty work.'.

There's an 'Investigation Bureau' for the Order.

Credo wants the mission dealt with quietly since today is a festival day. He DOES very seriously ask if Nero is okay to fight. Which Nero sarcastically replies "Will someone else do it if I say no?"

Red Queen is out at the 'technical bureau' for repairs because it has a lot of special parts. Credo gives Nero one of the Caliburn swords (the Durandal is the officers' sword type). He also tells Nero not to use his gun because it'll make noise and draw attention. Nero notices that Credo is out of sorts. He's apparently pretty upset about Nero being injured, Josh being killed, and all of it being covered up.

There's some guy named Kars (or Karls? The translation keeps changing his name) who Nero asked to buy that cute necklace for Kyrie. Nero is nice and apologetic for keeping the guy waiting, which throws Kars off a bit.

The Devil Bringer hurts as well as glows when there's a demon around.

Nero beats up a bunch of Scarecrows and heads back to go listen to Kyrie sing. That's literally the only reason he's going since he doesn't actually have to be there at the ceremony.

Okay, so Fortuna Castle is where Sparda supposedly lived when he was lord. It's used as an Art Gallery these days, and citizens are free to come and go as they like. The 'technical bureau' room (the underground lab) isn't known to most people, though, and their purpose is to build weapons to fight demons.

Agnus loves research, teaching, and Sanctus apparently. He also talks to Yamato. It doesn't talk back, but he's mainly complaining to it about not being able to fix the damn thing. He found Yamato a year ago on the outskirts of Fortuna. Even though the sword is only mentioned a few times in ancient books, Angus recognized it right away. In the translation Devil Arms are referred to as Magic Swords -- which might be how the Order thinks of them? In any case, they lost track of Sparda's swords after he left 2000 years ago.

Apparently you can repair Devil Arms. Some repair themselves overtime, other kinds can be fixed if you have the right type of material. Yamato is neither of those. Agnus thinks if Yamato was made from a Devil, then this makes sense -- BUT if that was the case it should've lost all its power when it was broken. Instead, Yamato still has lots of power. He calls the sword 'unpleasant' after yelling at it. Heh.

Gloria shows up with a guy named Greg. Agnus hates Gloria and is apparently a misogynist. As if we need another reason to dislike him. He doesn't trust her and also thinks it's distasteful for women to flaunt their stuff as a 'weapon.' Also Gloria clearly likes harassing him because he's such an uptight jerk.

The Order has never accepted 'foreigners' into its ranks before (hence some of Agnus' distrust). There's a line about the church paying attention to 'the birthplace and family' of its members -- which is interesting. I wonder if that's part of the reason some of the knights are weird about Nero? Because no one knows who his family is…

Gloria told them she was a treasure hunter and that's how she found the Devil Sword Sparda. Agnus thinks the sword is basically a holy relic since it was Sparda's actual sword. She caused quite a stir when she showed up and asked to speak to Sanctus (the knight who met her thought she was his mistress!).

Gloria also brought along the Devil Arms that were used to power the smaller Hell Gates (lol, Trish just swiped all of Dante's stuff!). The real Hell Gate can only be opened with a complete Yamato.

Stage 03 (Start of the game)

Nero bought his headphones from Kars.

Nero thinks the preaching is bullshit. It was Kyrie and Credo and their parents that showed him love and warmth, not some 'sinless' god. He thinks it's weird that their parents were so kind to him, and that it was probably because he has 'silver' hair like Sparda is said to have. There's an interesting line: "I don't have parents, so in their hearts I might be someone who has a relationship with Sparda."

He feels they were good people, if blind and naive, and seems angry they were killed by demons. It happened before he was a knight, and he doesn't know the circumstances. There's a reference to them investigating the ruins in Mitis Forest when they were killed? But that's why he doesn't believe in Sparda -- because why would god let good people like that die at the hands of demons? He also says that he could understand if it was someone like him (!) but not people who were devout, kind believers.

Very Vergil line from Nero: "So, I don't believe in God, I only believe in power."

He also decided to stick around to protect Kyrie, presumably because no god was going to do it.

The necklace Nero bought for Kyrie isn't very expensive. He wanted to thank her for taking care of him and congratulate her on getting to be the soloist at the ceremony.

"The Buddhism of the Pope on the stage continues." That line cracked me up. I assume it just means that Sanctus kept going with his sermon.

Dante shoots Sanctus, everyone panics. Nero doesn't worry about Kyrie dropping her gift since he can just buy her another one if she wants.

Nero's surprised by how fast Dante wrecks the knights since they're trained to fight demons. He mentions that 'many demons have human forms.' He didn't even stop to think before drop kicking Dante. He just wanted to save Kyrie.

When they end up on top of the statue of Sparda, Nero realizes that Dante is way stronger than he is even though Nero is far stronger than a normal person.

There's some surprise from Nero when Dante doesn't care that Credo and Kyrie escape, and he wonders if the 'murderer' has some kind of conscience after all. But he also doesn't care. Dante is clearly amused by this whole thing.

Nero's got an 'auto-loader' for Blue Rose because he has to load two types of ammo.

Nero doesn't use his right arm at first because he doesn't know when reinforcements will show up and doesn't want to have to explain it to them.

Dante doesn't seem to know what to make of Nero's arm at first? He asks if there is 'titanium inside.' Which is weird. Not sure if that's a translation thing or not.

Nero's right hand might actually be stronger than Dante. When Dante goes to staff him and Nero catches Rebellion, Dante can't quite pull away (though there's no indication of how hard he was trying).

Dante says "You too?" when Nero goes to throw the statue's sword at him, and Nero is confused. Dante also says "No, you don't have the smell of garbage," which I assume means he can tell that Nero isn't one of the artificial demons like the other knights.

Ooof. Nero thinks that he's killed humans possessed by demons but he's never killed a living person before. He can't really tell what Dante is, but he's gonna kill him. There's a weird line about how 'some fierce part of my heart awakened' and that he 'must kill this man, just like he is my old enemy.'

Nero isn't thinking clearly when he nails Dante to the statue and is a bit freaked out by his own reaction.

Nero's reaction to Dante surviving being impaled: 'This is a very outrageous guy.' Hah!

There's more made out of Dante saying that he and Nero are the same in the book. Dante out says "I am not human, are you not the same?" and Nero replies "I am… human," but he hides his arm and is shaken up by the question.

Dante still yeets out through the ceiling, but he calls Nero "little devil" when he leaves. It's kinda cute.

Nero's never met a demon that can understand human language. Evidently it's mainly the powerful ones who can. He worries that he might be a demon after all. The reinforcements show up before he can go check out the dead Order knights to confirm that they're not human. He wonders if he just imagined it, but knows that asking questions won't get him anything.

Switch to Dante POV. Sparda told his boys stories when they were little, though it seems like he left when they were still too young to really grasp everything or to think it was weird that their father was a demon. A lot of the stories of Sparda are considered just fairy tales and legends, so it's hard to piece together what he was really up to for those 2000 years before he met Eva.

The wording is strange, but Dante seems to realize that Vergil likely came to Fortuna to investigate legends of Sparda. After thinking it over, he laughs off the thought that Nero could be Vergil's kid.

Trish is 'very concerned about punctuality' and Dante has to go to the castle to meet her.

Back to Nero: He wants to go back to the dormitory and rest (what a mood), but Credo wants him to chase down Dante. Nero actually thinks he's not sure he can do it.

There's someone named Claude who's Durandl Nero was using? It just references "Claude's Durandl' being a very good sword.

Fortuna is surrounded by a solid wall, and there is only one exit by land. It's in the opposite direction of the Opera House and… the Fortuna duna? (Maybe the docks?) The Order keeps an eye on the ships in the port, though, so Dante can't escape that way.

Awww, he thinks the necklace suits Kyrie.

Demons attack the courtyard outside of the Opera house. Demons in Fortuna aren't rare, but having so many is. Also Nero has never seen them in the center of the city before in his 'few years as a knight.' Nero wonders if Dante is responsible. The plan is to take the citizens to HQ to keep them safe. (I get the feeling that the layout of the island is not so spread out as it is in the game. Either that or headquarters is actually a mistranslation.)

Nero mentally gushes about how great Kyrie is, that she'd even protect someone who treated her poorly. The boy is totally smitten. More very Vergil type thoughts: 'compassion without power can't change anything.' He decides he will be strong so that Kyrie's compassion isn't wasted. (Awww).

Nero deliberately breaks the archway to keep the demons from getting to the people. He ends up having to take the long way to get to HQ because the road is blocked

Stage 04 (Sanctus' resurrection and Berial)

'The room on the uppermost corner of the Magic Swords Corps' is Sanctus' bedroom. I'm assuming this is in the HQ building since this scene analogous to the one in the game where Sanctus is resurrected in the 'Ascension Chamber.'

Hahaha! Sanctus refers to Dante as an "awful guy." Okay, he apparently knew that Dante might come after him, but didn't expect him to drop into the middle of a big ceremony. He's also annoyed that he was killed in front of all the believers.

Agnus and Credo clearly don't like each other. Credo deliberately says some things to piss him off and Agnus absolutely takes the bait.

There's some strange wording, but my interpretation is: Credo partly sent Nero after Dante to make the kid look good. He knows that Nero isn't respected by the Order, but Credo thinks Nero is very strong. There's a comment about the Ascension Ceremony -- which Credo is convinced Nero could survive despite the low success rate (it says only 10 people survived, but that doesn't seem right). Evidently Credo wants to help Nero get in everyone's good graces to prepare him for the ceremony (Credo! Wut r u doin'?!)

Also Credo doesn't think there's any point in reasoning with Agnus. He really doesn't like him. Sanctus has to be the adult. He has some good skills in that, having to get all the different personalities in the Order to work with each other.

Agnus is a giant Sanctus fanboy. He's also easily excitable, which both Sanctus and Credo comment on.

Back to Nero: Lots o' demons in the city. He's very confused. Certain places are easier to open a Hell Gate than others. The translation is confusing here, saying it's easy to open a 'cave' in the area around 'Fodu.' I'm assuming that it means you can open portals to the Underworld easily on Fortuna?

Nero is pretty sure Rebellion is a powerful Devil Arm since he felt something in his Devil Bringer when he touched it.

Fortuna Castle was built up in the mountain because the people of Fortuna didn't want to destroy the environment. They do a lot to try to preserve the state of the island as close to how it was when Sparda was there. Nero thinks Sparda wouldn't care if they made their lives more convenient by modernizing things. (Pretty sure he's right.)

They refer to the big Hell Gate in the city as 'the monument.' Nero is surprised to find one in the Ferrum Hills.

Nero can tell how strong a demon is by how much his Devil Bringer hurts.

Hahaha! He thinks that Berial's sword is 'a little pitiful.' There's actually a nice illustration of Nero facing down Berial.

Nero seems convinced that Dante is a demon when he hears Berial also speak in a human language. There's a weird phrase: 'a lovely type of chat in the demonic race.' I'm not sure what that means.

Nero doesn't like heat. He's also annoyed (?) that Berial just ignored him because he's a human. He also calls Berial old. Also, oh snap, he quickly realizes that Berial is no threat to him, though at first he's a little worried. Nero thinks Berial is weaksauce compared to fighting with Dante. Berial also calls Nero "little devil."

Berial is surprised by Blue Rose. He's never seen a gun before. Nero's ticked that Berial has stronger fire than Red Queen.

Nero has been avoiding thinking about his arm too much, but fighting Berial makes him realize that his power is definitely like a demon's. Berial demands to know if Nero is human or not, and Nero's response is basically "I'm a special case." After Nero beats him up, Berial says he's sure that Nero is a devil, though Nero now denies it.

Berial gives him a weird look and says "Neither a demon nor a human being… that's it. You are like him." And then yeets into the Hell Gate because he knows he can't beat Nero without a refresh.

Nero apparently tries to destroy the Hell Gate but can't. He decides to move on, and wonders if the 'him' Berial was talking about is the man in red -- Dante.

Stage 05 (Fortuna Castle and Bael)

Dante POV: He's running around the castle to find Trish. She didn't tell him where to meet, only when. He wonders if Sparda really lived in such a place because there are only normal human things lying around and not Devil Arms.

He pops by the library and grabs a book off the shelf (Nero in the game comments on Dante having been there), but can't read the language. He feels like someone is watching him and calls them out. It's Trish who didn't want to startle him because she looks different. Dante feels the library suits Trish because 'she has a strong desire for knowledge.' (Interesting.) She doesn't actually show her Gloria disguise to him here.

Trish tells him where Yamato is. Dante wants it back because it's a memento of both his father and brother. There's a nice illustration of Dante and Trish.

They decide to deal with the Order before grabbing the sword since it's broken and they can't use it. Dante decides to poke around the castle a bit more, though Trish correctly guesses he's looking for anything that might have belonged to his dad.

Back to Nero: It seems like Nero hasn't been up to Lamina Peak (It's also called the Holy Mountain) before. He thinks the snow might be normal, but isn't sure. Tourists are rare, but the Castle is a big draw.

So the complicated route to get to the castle might have been to make it hard for enemies to get there in the Middle Ages. But he says the bridge is 2000 years old in the next sentence, so… Not really the Middle Ages.

Nero is actually pleased the bridge gets broken because it gives him a shortcut he wouldn't have thought of otherwise. Fights the Frosts, thinks they can't be the cause of the snow because they're not that kind of demon.

Nero is sure Gloria isn't from Fortuna, and he definitely notices the saucy clothing. Fortuna ladies don't dress like that. He mainly wants to know who she is. He has no idea why his Devil Bringer is still hurting after the demons are defeated, and wonders if that means the woman is a demon.

He hides his Devil Bringer from her -- which is why he doesn't shake her hand. She knows who he is, which means she's a knight, so he assumes that his arm is reacting to other demons nearby.

Gloria lists his nicknames: "'The bad bird to get along with', the arrogant atheist''

He's not surprised.

Ah, he turns away when she puts the knife away because he's being a bit polite and kinda doesn't want to get flashed.

Oh, he HAS been to the Castle, but he can't remember when. It was at least 3 years ago, before he was a knight. He doesn't like the place because of the 'damp air.'

He thinks maybe Dante came here to steal art (hah!).

Nero can't completely read the book Dante was looking at either. He knows enough to pick out that it's about demons, though, and he thinks that it might help him understand what Dante is after.

He's never seen the Bianco Angelos before, and figures it has to be a new weapon of the Order. Nero seems to think the guy in the armor is just a jerk messing with him.

Nero isn't even slightly tempted by Bael's sexy ladies -- the translation uses the word 'goblins' for them. Like Dante says in the game, Bael smells pretty bad. Also Nero can barely understand what Bael is saying, his human is so garbled. Bael also calls Nero "little devil" when he dies.

Link to the next part of the notes: https://madartiste.tumblr.com/post/186824600040/deadly-fortune-book-1-chapters-6-11

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