#its just like... my apt is small enough that the one in the hall outside the bedroom is quite enough

[swankpalanquin]

would rather die in a fire than have to deal with smoke detectors To Be Completely Honest

[encomium-emmae]

Battle Scars

Queen Emma x King Canute, 957 words, Rated T

The king wakes from his first sleep a little before she does, taking the opportunity to wrap his arm around her waist and pull her close against him. Emma can feel him kissing along her bare shoulder, her eyes blinking open once his mouth begins to migrate up to her neck.

They take their pleasure there, in the darkness of her chamber, the faint light of the hearth fire illuminating the slow, unhurried movement of their bodies.

Afterwards, rather than returning to sleep, Canute shifts to lay his head upon her lap, one of his arms reaching down to clasp her hand in his. His hair is unbound, dark strands falling across her hip. She begins to play with it, combing her fingers through its length, the texture like coarse silk—or the pelt of some sleek animal. Her touch is soft, rhythmic, and she can feel him begin to relax under her ministrations, the furrows on his brow turning smooth. Purely from impulse she reaches up and traces the line of the scar that runs just above his eye.

“Where did you get this?”

“Norwich,” he answers, and he does not need to say more.

She had only been in England two years then, still a girl, with only partial command over the language. But Emma understood enough of the strained whispering in the hall and solemn faces of the ealdormen who met in counsel with her husband: something terrible had happened. One of her servants, a moon-faced Saxon girl whose family was from Norwich, finally told her. The Vikings had come, under the Danish king Sweyn Forkbeard, and put the city to the flame. The lucky ones died quickly by the blade, the less fortunate by fire, and slowly. Everything of worth had been taken, stripped from its place and packed away into wooden coffers, and the rest left to ruin.

It is unsettling to realize he had been there, a young warrior under his father’s brutal command.

“An Englishman gave it to you?”

She does not ask out of pride, but curiosity, for he has loomed so large as an unyielding enemy that it seems strange to imagine him taken down by some middling yeoman’s son.

“I do not know,” he says, his eyes growing unfocused with the memory. “It was dark. I was on foot, running down a narrow street, and then nothing. When I woke up, I was in the Danish camp, outside the city walls. The men said they almost did not recognize me at first, there was so much blood.”

She nods, her eyes drawn once more to the diagonal line on his brow, a pale divot marring its otherwise wide expanse. He would carry Norwich with him forever, a small penance for all that was taken from that place.

“And what of your scars, Emma?”

She presses her lips together into a wry smile. “I have none, my lord. I have never been to war.”

“But you have seen a battle. At least two, in fact.��� Canute’s hand squeezes gently at hers. “I cannot imagine you did not fight as hard as any warrior to bring your sons into the world.”

His metaphor is apt, for that is the only way it could be described. For months, her body had been besieged, overrun with all manner of outrages, from the protracted nausea that plagued her early on to the ravenous hunger that replaced it. As her belly swelled, so did the ache in her lower back, until she could barely walk and all she wished for was the comfort of her bed. Of the final assault, she does not wish to think, and regardless, all that remains is a haze of anxious voices and sweat and earth-shattering pain. A scream of anguish had filled her ears, only for her to realize it was her own.

It had been too much, she had been ready to lay down her arms and accept defeat—but then somehow it was over, and a bloody squalling thing was lowered into her grasp. Emma did not know its name, but she knew she loved it more than she had ever loved anything. This was her victory, her prize.

Only the last time, there was no squalling—no sound at all. The women would not deign to meet her eye, and only when she desperately begged to know did the physician tell her it had been a girl.

Perhaps she does bear a scar, after all: an invisible one, etched in a mournful corner of her heart.

“There were three battles,” she says softly. “I lost one.”

His gray-green eyes widen with sudden understanding, and with the realization of what it means for her to tell him this. They had been enemies, then allies, and now lovers; she had trusted him with her body, but at this moment she is clearly trusting him with something more.

“I am sorry,” Canute tells her, and then sits up to look her directly in the eye. She lets herself be drawn into his embrace, taking comfort in the warm solidity of his body wrapping itself around hers. Æthelred had never held her so, not even when he was told of what had happened, and to have such kindness now is slightly more than she can bear. Pinpricks of sudden tears spring to her eyes and she buries her face in the crook of his neck so that he cannot see.

“My sweet Emma,” he murmurs, smoothing her hair against the back of her head. Her hand clasps around the curve of his shoulder, thumb running along the raised indentation that lies just atop his skin.

These are the things they carry, and now perhaps they will bear them together.

gif courtesy of @lomapacks​

ao3 link + first sleep + sack of norwich in 1004 (anglo-saxon chronicle)

[spareseratoninplz]

More Than Pain Bakugou x Reader CH. 1

**Warning: THIS SERIES WILL CONTAIN VIOLENCE, ADULT LANGUAGE, AND ADULT SITUATIONS, IF YOU- ah, who am I kidding, you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t wanna read that stuff, so go ahead, be my guest. (Please be kind, this is my first ever tumblr post! 0=0)

I’ve known from a young age that I was different. Truth be told, I never wanted to be this way. I never wanted a quirk, but I guess that’s just the way things are now. Less and less people are born without a quirk, so when I developed mine at the age of two, I should’ve been happy, thrilled, even excited… but I wasn’t.

“She needs to be properly counselled. She needs to learn that lying is never okay, and this school will not condone it. ” The school nurse spoke to my mother as I sat quietly on the bench outside of the room as they continued their conference.

“Y-yes, I understand… but I’m still having trouble understanding what you said before… you mentioned that she had fallen.” Mother questioned, and I sighed quietly. I hadn’t told the nurse the whole story, and it wasn’t really my intention to do so.

“Typical behavior for a kid her age. They’ll do just about anything to get attention.” The chair she was sitting in creaked as she stood and strolled across the room.

“My daughter has never acted that way before… if she said she was hurt, then I’m apt to believe she wasn’t lying.”

A moment passed as the nurse seemingly thought over her next words carefully.

“There’s been a misunderstanding, Miss (L/N).” The nurse spoke.

“Your daughter never mentioned she’d been hurt. Her teacher sent her here after witnessing your daughter bullying another student.” She said.

Immediately my mother stood, knocking the chair she’d been sitting in backwards from the speed in which she stood.

“That’s enough!” She declared, causing my eyes to go wide.

“(Y/N) is a good kid. I know she would never be the bully in any situation.” she said, her tone demanding attention.

“I… I can understand why you would be skeptical… but there were witnesses.” The nurse said, and another moment of silence passed between them before my mother spoke again.

“We’re leaving.” She said simply before stepping through the door, and grabbing me by the hand to follow her towards the exit doors.

“Calling my daughter a ‘bully’... the nerve of some people!” Mother mumbled under her breath. I slipped my hand from her grip, and she stopped to look back at me as I frantically wiped at the tears streaming down my cheeks.

“Oh sweetie…” She purred, kneeling in front of me to dry my eyes.

“Don’t listen to what that mean lady said. You’re not a bully.” She coaxed, and I shook my head, and tried to speak between sobs.

“B-B-But... *hic* M-Mommy, I-I… *hic* I really did *hic* push that kid down…*hic*” Her eyes widened, and then softened just as quickly as she retrieved a handkerchief from her back pocket to dab at my swollen, wet eyes.

“Oh sweetie… why?” She asked, and I had managed to calm down a bit.

“I… I wouldn’t have hit him if he hadn’t hit me first!” I said, now puffing my cheeks out.” Mother nodded, indicating for me to continue.

“There was this other kid that was getting bullied, so I told the bigger kid to cut it out, and he pushed me down on the sidewalk.” I explained, wiping my nose on my jacket sleeve.

“He made me scrape my knee, and it was all bloody and gross… so I pushed him back, and he started crying…” I said, and an amused look came over her face.

“Sweetie… it’s not really considered bullying if you’re standing up for yourself. Also, you were protecting someone from getting hurt, right?” She asked, and I nodded.

“Well then, that doesn’t make you a bully… it makes you a hero.” She said, smiling brightly. I blinked a few times before tilting my head to the side in thought.

“Like All-Might?” I asked, and she chuckled before nodding.

“Exactly!” She said, and I hummed in thought.

“But mommy, I don’t wanna be a hero.” I said, and her eyes widened in disbelief before she chuckled once more, and pulled me into a tight hug.

“You know what, sweetie? That’s just fine. You don’t have to be a hero. You can be anything you want to be.” She said, and I smiled.

“I don’t know what I wanna be yet.” I said, and she just smiled back.

“-And that’s okay. You have plenty of time to decide.” She said before standing and walking me out to the car to go home.

“Wait, didn’t you mention you scraped your knee?” Mother asked, and I nodded slightly.

“Yeah. It was all bloody and gross.” I repeated, and she pulled the seatbelt across me before examining my knee through my ripped up denim overalls.

“What? There’s no sign of a scrape.” She said, giving me a look.

“It’s okay mommy. I made it go away. It didn’t even hurt.” I said proudly. She blinked a few times before giving a tired smile.

“It sure has been a long day… let’s get home and grab a bite to eat.” She said before buckling herself into her seat, and starting the car.

*Middle school 7½  years later*

“(Y/N)-chan will you tutor me in science? I’m totally gonna flunk if I don’t pass next week’s midterm!” My friend Sawa groaned next to me, and I chuckled sheepishly.

“C’mon Sawa, I think you give me a little too much credit.” I said, and the two of us jumped as a loud ‘boom’ echoed through the hallways. At the end of the hall I saw two kids from my class. One that was slightly taller with spiky blond hair, and the other, smaller with curly black hair with a green undertone.

“K-Kaachan, I didn’t mean to-” He stuttered, but Bakugou had already pulled an arm back, ready to blast him in the face like he’d done many times before.

“C’mon (Y/N) let’s head towards the other end of the hall…” Sawa said, her hair standing on end, but my body had already moved on its own.

“(Y/N)!” Sawa shouted.

“DIE! DAMNED DEKU!!”” Bakugou shouted his trademark shout, but I had already moved myself in front of Izuku before he could strike. His eyes widened, but he couldn’t stop the momentum of his arm as his quirk was released full force into my face. When the smoke cleared, I hadn’t flinched, and his eyes grew wide as I glared at him unwaveringly.

“For someone who wants to be the number one hero, you don’t seem very heroic.” I said, my tone bland as the small scratches that littered my face and neck slowly disappeared.

“The hell is your deal?!” Bakugou demanded. I ignored him and turned to Midoriya.

“You okay, Izuku?” I asked, and he nodded.

“Y-yeah…” He said, still regarding Bakugou.

“HEY, I ASKED YOU A QUESTION!” He shouted at me, and I just glanced at him over my shoulder unimpressed.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“DON’T PRETEND LIKE YOU DIDN’T HEAR ME!” He shouted even louder, letting off another explosion, but I blocked it with my hand. The scratches then quickly healed themselves, and I turned to look Bakugou directly in the eye.

“Look, I don’t know what your deal is, but shouting, bullying people and blowing everything up won’t solve your problems.” I said, and he continued to glare daggers straight through me.

“Grow up.” I hissed, and he simply furrowed his brow before leaning back on his heels and shoving his hands into his pockets. He gave a quick grunt of disapproval before trudging off down the hall.

“W-wow… I’ve never seen anyone stand up to Kaachan like that…” Midoriya said. I helped him to pick his books up, and couldn’t help but notice the title of one of them.

“‘Hero Analysis for the future’?” I asked, and he frantically waved his hands.

“Oh, Y-yeah! I-It’s just something that I enjoy doing… watching heros and analyzing their strategies and whatnot…” He mumbled.

“It doesn’t sound like something you enjoy by the tone of your voice.” I said matter-of-factly. He looked surprised at my words before smiling weakly at the ground.

“I do! It’s just… y’know. What’s the point?” He asked, defeatedly, looking down sideways at his books.

“I’m quirkless… and no one has ever heard of a quirkless hero before… Kaachan… he’s so amazing. He’s so confident and strong.” He said, with an air of admiration in his tone now as he spoke about Bakugou.

“Sure… he’s also a bully.” I said, helping Midoriya to his feet.

“Oh, Kaachan has always been that way since we were kids.” Midoriya laughed it off, and I shot him a quick look.

“Right… listen Midoriya.” I said, collecting his attention quickly.

“Just because Bakugou was your friend when you were kids doesn’t give him the right to treat you this way… and it shouldn’t matter if you have a quirk or not.” I said, and his eyes widened.

“Wh-what are you saying…?” He asked, and I gave him a knowing smile.

“I’m saying that… just because you’re quirkless doesn’t mean you can’t be a-” Just then, the bell rang, and judging by the fact that Sawaya had already run off to the other end of the hall, we were already late for class.

“Sorry! I can’t be late for english again, I-” Just before I could take off down the hall, he grabbed my arm, his grip trembling slightly as he squeezed.

“Wait, please!” He seemed to beg, and I stopped immediately, looking back at him.

“Huh? What is it?” I asked, and gasped slightly when I saw that he was tearing up.

“P-please… finish what you were going to say…” He begged, and I felt my heart tug within my chest. I swallowed hard before turning towards him, and resting my hands on his shoulders.

“Just because you’re quirkless, doesn’t mean you can’t be a hero.” I said, and the tears began to stream  down his cheeks.

“Th-thank you… I… I needed to hear th-that…” He sobbed, and I gave him a quick hug before running off in the opposite direction.

“I’ll see you later!” I waved behind me, feeling my heart swell with emotion, glad I could make someone’s day better.

*Lunchtime*

I waved goodbye to Sawa as she left for her study period, and walked with my bento over towards where I normally sat when I noticed a familiar head of hair sitting by itself in the corner of the lunch room.

“Hey Midoriya.” I greeted, and he jumped slightly when he saw that I was standing there. After a moment, he grinned sheepishly and began to speak.

“Oh, h-hey (F/N)-chan…” He greeted, and I immediately sat myself down as I tugged the other half of his face towards me so I could see better.

“Bakugou again?” I asked, giving him a look that said if he lied to me, he’d regret it. He looked panicked for a second before nodding.

“Y-yeah… I accidentally bumped him in the hallway.” He said, and I shook my head. 

“Hold still.” I said before lightly touching his cheek, and transferring some of my energy to him. The cuts healed immediately, and his eyes began to sparkle as he began rummaging through his bag for something.

“Midoriya? What are you doing?” I questioned. He whipped out the journal I had seen before along with a pen.

“Please tell me about your quirk!” He exclaimed, and I blinked a few times before registering his request.

“Oh, I uh… it’s nothing really.” I waved him off, but he insisted.

“A healing ability is super rare! Hardly 1% of the entire population are born with a healing quirk!” He exclaimed, spewing all of these facts and trivias at me, and I quickly held up my hand to stop him.

“It’s not quite that simple.” I said, and he watched me expectantly, his pen ready for writing.

“My quirk developed when I was two years old… and as long as I can remember, I haven’t been able to feel any pain.” I said, and he looked at me absolutely dumbfounded.

“So… your quirk is a type of absorption?” He asked, and I shrugged.

“I hadn’t really thought about it…” I admitted.

“Hmm… it kinda makes sense… earlier, when Kaachan used his quirk on you, you didn’t even flinch. Also, right after you absorbed the energy from his attack, your body began to heal itself!” He was mumbling to himself, but I could hear him quite clearly.

He formed a fist with one hand before clapping it into his other with realization.

“Wait, so then… if you can absorb the energy from another’s quirk, and then use that energy for yourself to heal, wouldn't it also have offensive capabilities too?” He questioned, more himself than me. At this point, I listened intently whilst eating my bento. He looked so content I didn’t want to interrupt him.

“You have an amazing quirk, (Y/N)-chan! You could definitely get into UA if you wanted to!” He said, and I smiled kindly.

“Thanks Midoriya… but uh… I don’t want to be a hero really.” I said, and his face fell.

“Wh-what…?” He questioned, and I nodded.

“I mean… I want to help people, sure, but I don’t feel like being all flashy about it is really necessary. Y’know? You can help someone just as much by doing less.” I said, and he chuckled awkwardly.

“Sure, yeah… that’s a good way to think about it… it’s just…” He hesitated for a moment before speaking again.

“Sorry. I guess I’m just jealous.” He admitted, smiling slightly.

“Jealous? Of what?” I asked.

“You have this rare and amazing quirk, but don’t want to use it for being a hero… I’m completely quirkless, and being a hero is all I’ve ever wanted.” He said, a familiar sadness in his eyes.

“Oh Midoriya…” I sighed, placing my chopsticks down.

“You can be a hero too.” I said, and just like before his eyes widened. He smiled, and turned his eyes to look dowards at the table, trying to hide the blush creeping onto his cheeks.

“Right… you said that before too…” He mumbled. He then lifted his head up, his eyes bright and his cheeks still slightly rosy.

“Thanks, (Y/N)!” He said, his smile contagious.

“Anytime, Izuku.” I said, smiling back.

*Back home* I stepped through the door, and the house was unusually cold. Normally, I was met with the delicious smell of dinner on the table, or if mom had worked late, she would’ve picked something up on her way home.

“Mom?” I called out, the faint light of the fan above the stove was on and slightly flickering. I dropped my bag near the door, and walked towards the kitchen slowly, switching the lights on as I went.

“Mom? I’m home. I thought maybe we could check out that new steakhouse tonight. Sawa’s mom works there as a hostess, and I know you’re probably exhausted from work, so I-” I rounded the corner to the kitchen, and my blood ran cold.

“MOM!” She had collapsed onto the floor near the kitchen table, and was breathing, but just barely.

“Mom, what happened? Can you hear me?” I asked, and when she didn’t answer I jumped up and rushed over to the kitchen phone to call the paramedics. The automated message on the other line made my stomach sink.

‘Hello, unfortunately due to the high call volume we are receiving at the moment, we are unable to take your call right away. Please stay on the line and one of our dispatchers will be with you shortly.’ There was a beep followed by some music, and I quickly hung up the phone.

“DAMMIT!” I screamed before running back to mom who was still struggling to breath whilst beginning to turn very pale and blotchy.

“Mom, tell me where it hurts so I can heal you.” I said, and her eyes widened in terror as she shook her head.

“What? Mom, just point to where it hurts! Show me!” I begged, but she continued to shake her head, her face growing paler by the second.

“Mom, please, I…” I cursed to myself before finally deciding what needed to be done. If she wouldn’t let me heal her, I had to do the next best thing.

“Can you stand?” I asked, but she didn’t get a chance to answer me as I helped her to sit up by throwing one of her arms around my shoulder, and lifting her up with the strength of my legs.

“C’mon let’s go.” I said, hoping she’d have enough strength to walk, but every step she took forward only caused the two of us to stumble two steps backwards or sideways.

“Hold onto me.” I said. She weakly threw her arms over me, and I did a little hop to get her completely gathered in my arms. Luckily, I hadn’t shut the door behind me so I quickly maneuvered it open with my foot, and descended the stairs. I jerked open the back seat to her car and placed her in the backseat before sitting in the driver’s seat, and reaching above my head for the spare key that she kept in the paneling in front of the windshield.

“It’s okay… this is fine… I’ve never driven before in my life… but this is fine…” I took a deep breath before turning the key, putting the car in gear, and hitting the gas. The car lurched backwards, and I immediately hit the brake, causing the car to jerk forward.

“Shit…!” I cursed, gripping the steering wheel tightly enough to turn my knuckles white. I switched the car out of reverse and put it into drive before hitting the gas again, and taking off in the wrong direction on a one way street. Thankfully, it was late so there weren’t many drivers on the road, but those who were weren’t very happy with me at the moment.

I pulled through into the opening for the hospital, and accidentally took off one of my mother’s side mirrors. I slid out of the car and quickly ran in to grab a nurse.

“Please, please, something is wrong with my mother, please help!” I begged, grabbing her hand. She and a few other nurses hurried out to the car, and before long they were rushing her through the hospital on a gurney as fast as they could.

“I’m sorry ma’am but you can’t go back there.” One of the male nurses stopped me as they took her through to the OR, and I felt my stomach doing flips as he led me out into the waiting room to wait with all the other anxious people.

[the-nottea-was-tentacles]

Gilded Cage

Hey this is an AU that a few people in a discord I’m in were talking about!

Summary: Mordechai Lukas has found a man who can answer almost any question and wants to share this resource with his closest ally. Jonah Magnus is searching for answers but is distracted by pretty things. The Archivist has only known these walls and this room, for a very, very long time. JonJonah

“It doesn’t look like much,” Jonah said staring up at the drab-looking building, small and slate grey, crammed between two other small nondescript buildings. It was the same color as the sky above, both similar enough to the color of the snow on the road that Jonah expertly avoided as he left the carriage that they had arrived in.

“Did you think it was going to be made with marble and gold, Jonah?” Mordechai asked with a smirk, his hand going to cover the whistle that had been ever present around his neck for the past three weeks.

“I expected something a little more impressive than this, yes,” Jonah replied, annoyed. Getting to London at this time of year was no small feat, and he longed for his study back in Edinburgh, with its large fireplace and warm blankets.

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head Jonah; it is much more impressive on the inside.” Mordechai said as he walked towards the door, Jonah having to lengthen his gait to keep up with the taller man.

Mordechai wrenched the door to the house open, and Jonah almost sighed as the warm air from within the building washed over him, Mordechai, of course, didn’t react, seemingly unbothered by the cold.

The door led through to a hallway, long but well lit with torches lining the wall every few feet. The walls all looked as if they were one stone, but carved into it were lines, so thin that Jonah couldn’t quite imagine how precise the tools needed to make them must have been. The lines all together made an image of spider web, coating the walls, ceiling and floor, all connected to each other. Jonah felt his eyes longing to follow the threads, to follow them to their sources, to Know-

Ah, but that is one way the Web catches its victims, and Jonah, would not be a fly.

“I believe that is what binds him here,” Mordechai said as Jonah finally tore his eyes away from the mesmerizing stone-carved webs. “I did ask him, but he would only answer one question for the payment I gave, and I was far more interested in the question I came to him with.”

Mordechai’s hand once again came to rest on the whistle around his neck. Was it the glee of finally having tracked it down that made Mordechai so focused on the artifact, Jonah wondered, or was the connection to the patron that Mordechai still refused to admit too?

“From what you were telling me, he barely made you pay anything for what you did ask,” Jonah said as they continued down the hall, quickly coming to a large dark wooden door. “Which is surprising, I’ve never known you to be stingy.”

“I gave him what he asked for, and he seemed satisfied by the trade.” Mordechai shrugged, “Perhaps he has an interest in old children’s tales, or perhaps he simply enjoyed my company.”

The snort that Jonah answered him with, was unbecoming of both of their stations. As was the shove that Mordechai responded in return with. But there was no one to see but the two of them, acting as the children they had once been, so long ago.

Eventually Mordechai drifted to the door and opened it as well, letting bright natural light into the room.

The first thing Jonah noticed about the room was the smell, old paper, dust and ink with the smokey scent of a lit fire. The second thing he noticed was how warm it was, if the hallway was a nice relief from the outside, this was where the heat was coming from. Just stepping into the room felt like being plunged into a freshly warmed bath.

Stepping fully into the room, Jonah had to stop himself from gasping at the high domed ceilings, that was at least two stories higher than the building had been on the outside. The walls were covered in bookcases, each bookcase full to the brim of books and journals, and in a few cases scrolls.  And in the center of the circular room, there sat a desk. Large and overflowing and covered in loose paper and books.

Behind the desk sat a man, who was furiously writing something down in a bound book, glancing between it and a scroll he had laid out beside him.

The man was small and slight, even shorter than Jonah himself, and seemed almost tiny compared Mordechai. His long hair was bound back, and was dark, except for the strands of silver that ran through it, that put Jonah in the mind of spiderwebs.

His dress was most strange of all, instead of the proper waistcoats, breeches, stockings and cravats that both Jonah and Mordechai wore, the other man looked he stepped from the past. He wore a plain white Greek tunic with a dark green toga draped around his body that contrasted with his dark skin.

He was beautiful, like a talented artist’s rendition of Ganymede. Or perhaps considering the situation, it would be more apt to compare him to the Oracle of Delphi.

“Oh, Mister Lukas,” The man said, looking up as they drew near him. His hand still moved on the page, steady even as he looked away. “I see you found what you sought. Do you have another Question?”

“No not I,” Mordechai responded, motioning towards Jonah with his head. “My companion does, however.”

When Mordechai had explained to Jonah how the transaction would work, Jonah had thought of many different questions he would like the answers too. Were Smirke’s theories correct? How long have the entities existed beside humanity? Was there a way to put oneself, out of the reach of a certain entity?

But now in front of the man who could answer those questions, Jonah only had one question on his mind.

“I would Ask your name.” Jonah stated, a smirk playing at his lips as he watched the other man stiffen at his words. Mordechai, perhaps noticing Jonah’s tone sighed, leaning against a nearby bookshelf to watch.

“And what information would you give me in payment for such a Question?” The man asked in return, clearly unnerved. He had placed the quill he had been writing with in a nearby inkwell, now clearly fully focused on the conversation before him.

“My own name,” Jonah replied casually, meeting the other man’s eyes. They were beautiful as well, green to match the toga the man wore, but they seemed to have a glow to them. Perhaps a sign of his connection to the Beholding? Whatever reason, they suited him.

The man tilted his head, staring up at him. He seemed wrongfooted as if he was used to a certain script and Jonah had decided to improvise his part. Which to be fair, Jonah was, that was certainly not the question Jonah had planned on asking. The man’s confusion was quite adorable, Jonah decided as he watched the man bite his lip, before nodding.

“I will accept that payment,” The man paused, as if thinking hard, which in itself was interesting.

“I am the Archivist. I am also called the Beholding’s Voice, or the Keeper of Information. Once I was called The Mother’s Pet, by a very foolish young man, who I believe regretted it in the end.” The man paused, seeming hesitant, “I think I was also once called Jon, but I have very little information of that far back.”

“Jon,” Jonah tasted the name, smiling at how the Archivist’s eyes grew wide at it coming from Jonah’s mouth. How long had it been since another voice had used it? Jonah stepped closer to the desk.

Once he stood opposite of the Archivist, he held out a hand to him, palm up. The Archivist stared at it hesitantly before slowly placing his own hand upon it. Jonah brought it to his lips and placed a soft kiss on its back.

“It is so nice to meet you, Jon, my name is Jonah Magnus.” He said as he lowered their hands, not able to hold back a smirk as he noticed the dark blush of the Archivist’s cheeks. He used his thumb to stroke the side of the Archivist’s hand, noticing the man tremble slightly as he did so. Jon pulled his hand away after a moment and Jonah allowed him to do so.

Mordechai stood up from where he had been leaning as he watched them, taking out his pocket watch, and checking the time.

“Jonah, we must leave if we are to make Robert’s dinner party,” Mordechai’s tone was such that it made it clear that he would much rather stand there and watch Jonah flirt than spend even a minute in Smirke’s presence.

Ah, what Jonah did to keep up appearances.

Jonah hummed slightly in answer, before bowing his head towards the Archivist as he stepped back away from the desk, not turning away.  

“Till we meet again, Jon.”

“You’re coming back?” Jon asked, eyes still wide, swiftly rising to his feet, but staying behind the desk that he had sat at.

Jonah chuckled, as he glanced around the room. A beautiful well-lit library, with a thousand kingdoms’ secrets; it was hard to imagine a more gilded cage. And at its center, the sweet little songbird the cage was crafted for. How long had Jon existed here, alone, but for those willing to trade their secrets and stories?

Jonah had always loved beautiful things, and the Mother of Puppets had held this one long enough.

Perhaps it was time this songbird found a new owner.

“Yes, I think I might be.”

[polyhymniia]

listen ok it’s been a month since i’ve been here but i was reminded of this short story i wrote and how someone told me it sounded like it could be the prologue for a book and now i kinda wanna participate in nanowrimo????

Silence was never something I was accustomed to. With two younger brothers, silence was coveted, a luxury not often had. This was especially true when said younger brothers happened to be very close in age and also far too interested in things like playing the drums and not going outside, two things Mama would never have allowed me to do at their age. She said it had something to do with the fact that they were wild-- a joke more often than not-- but I knew it was because they looked too much like Papa, even if she wouldn’t admit it. She didn’t have to. When Andrew finally grew out of his baby face, Mama kept to her room for longer than she had when he was first born. Jacob was similar, but there was a sharpness in him, one that resembled me more than anyone else in our small family-- a small family that was not around to fill the silence in our usually busy home. 

Despite having grown used to carrying the small key with me to and from school, I was not familiar with the way it slid into the lock. When I came home from school, Mama was always there, Andrew often glued to her side and Jacob running around on the verge of breaking something or other. Ever since he started school, he’d become insufferably full of energy. There was no stopping him when he found something to set his mind to. This usually meant looking for some obscure toy or craft he hadn’t cared about in years and tearing up the house to find it. Our home had long since become a graveyard of forgotten things; it was impossible to walk through its rooms without tripping over something that looked like it would have fit in better at a garage sale. 

Now though, there was no comforting smell to welcome me home. The lights were off. The air felt stale like there had been nothing moving within it for hours. I discarded my backpack by the door, moving through the house in an attempt to figure out where they’d gone. There was no sign of my brothers having ever come home from school. Their jackets were not hanging on the hooks by the door, toys were still scattered around the living room, and the kitchen was bereft of people. After minimal searching, I found the answer to my question-- a simple sticky note resting on the microwave handle.

Natalie,  Taken boys to dentist,  wash the dishes when you get home,  Love Mama.

I paused with a wrinkle of my nose. Washing the dishes was not my chore. I got stuck with things like vacuuming the front hall or sweeping the kitchen, but not washing the dishes. The dishes were too beautiful-- fragile things that might slip out of careless fingers. I didn’t know whether to feel excited or disappointed that she had finally given me such a task she would only ever take on herself. Dwelling on it was useless. I dug out the stool that rested in the cabinet just below the sink. If I didn’t get on it, Mama would be home before I knew it, and I’d get no sympathy if the task wasn’t finished. 

As the sink filled with water, I quickly figured out why Mama preferred to do the dishes herself. There was something intensely calming about running my hands over the smooth surface of glass bowls and ceramic mugs. Soap eased the path of my fingers as I picked away at the smallest leftover imperfections. For a moment, I could almost imagine I was doing something far more important than I was. It reminded me of playing archaeologists with Andrew when Papa would hide coins out in the garden for us to find. It mattered very little that Andrew was so young back then, his primary goal was putting everything in his mouth. I smiled at the memory of picking bits of dirt off of the surface of a new penny and bringing it into the kitchen with pride until Mama would yell at us to wash up and stop bringing dirt into her new kitchen. Nudging bits of dried rice off of the surface of a pot was far different, and the thought slipped away, down the drain with everything else. 

Within the hour, the task had come and gone. Dripping plates and spoons took up residence on the counter. Water was everywhere, but I was filled with pride at seeing the now empty sink. That good feeling lasted only moments before I glanced at the microwave clock. In its age, it had lost some illumination on one side, but there was enough there for me to see that it read almost half past four. Long past was the time Mama should have returned with the boys. A dentist appointment only took so long. The phone on the wall looked tempting, but as much as I wanted to use it, I couldn’t remember the number Mama had told us to call if we needed her. She was rarely gone long enough for any of us to need it. 

Rummaging around in the refrigerator, I searched my memory for the last time I’d been without Mama for longer than school was in session. As far as I could remember, she was always home when I was, claiming that she had to be home to look after her babies, that that was the most important. We weren’t babies, I thought. This was something I always contested. I would be a teenager soon enough. 

“You’ll always be my babies,” she insisted, though the lingering sadness in her eyes worried me. The boys were too young to notice, but not me. I knew Mama better than anyone.

I knew her well enough to know when it was time to stop asking her questions about math homework, how much noise was enough noise and how much would get me a scolding and a swat with whatever spoon she was cooking with. I knew when to gather the boys and send them to their rooms so they wouldn’t meet her friends. When to keep them quiet, not seen, not heard. When they were older, maybe they would know Mama as well, but for now they had me to guide them. 

Not now, I supposed, seeing as they were still with Mama and I was home. But they would be home soon. And no doubt, as soon as they got back I would be in charge of making sure the boys were ready for bed. Cooking dinner was Mama’s time to be by herself. She’d said it enough times that even Jacob picked up on it. So, with nothing more than the rhythmic dripping of water hitting the floor to fill the silence, I thought about what to do next. While usually this wouldn’t be an issue, there wasn’t really a next task to get started on. The only thing her note had said was to do the dishes-- done. 

As was common in our household, having no direction from someone else led to little else than my own sitting around. Unlike the boys, I was not apt to make messes and break rules, especially not as I held onto the belief that Mama would be home soon enough. Getting caught in the act of doing something wrong would surely be worse than any joy it might bring me in the moment. Nevertheless, I could not deny the temptation of the television remote sitting so prettily on the coffee table. Perhaps later, when Mama was home, I could ask to watch television as a reward for a job well done on the dishes. My hands itched to take a hold of it now, but instead, I led them in the direction of my discarded backpack. Homework, while boring, was something, and I knew just as well as anyone that a bored child was one more likely to cause trouble. I had seen such a thing in Andrew so many times that even thinking about it now made me shake my head slowly.

Despite the fact that I started with good intentions, rarely do they lead anywhere other than where they’re often said to. With my notebooks strewn on the dining room table and homework problems half finished, I somehow made my way to the couch, curled up under the old throw blanket there as I waited for Mama to return. Without my permission, the warmth and hunger that spread over me as I sat there were the perfect recipe to carry me off to sleep, even though it was only 7 pm and I would no doubt get in some form of trouble for spreading my things out and not picking them up. 

And as I did on most nights, I dreamed of Papa. It was less of a dream and more of a half-formed memory, fogged up and blurry like someone had tried to take a photo but hadn’t cared enough about the image to actually stand still before they did it. Mama always said I was too young to remember him, but I knew that wasn’t true. Well, not really anyways. I don’t remember exactly what he looked like-- and there were no pictures around for me to reference--, but I remember his laugh. I remember how hard he laughed when Mama told him about Jacob, and I remember the first time Andrew laughed for real, not the giggle of a baby who hasn’t learned words yet. I couldn’t remember why it made her so upset. After all, Papa had been laughing the last time we saw him. In my dream, it was a happy laugh. Mama was laughing too. There was no sobbing or screaming. No slammed door. The knowledge that they should be there was enough to shatter the illusion. That, and the shrill sound of the phone ringing in the kitchen. 

I sat up quickly, my fingers itching to grab the phone receiver off of the dock. I might’ve, if Mama hadn’t been so strict about it. We weren’t ever allowed to pick up the phone unless she told us we could beforehand. With no such permission, I just wandered into the kitchen, staring at the blinking red light until the ringing stopped. The familiarity of our answering machine filled the kitchen, far too loud for the previous silence it had just broken. I was fully expecting it to be one of those “stupid telemarketing scammers” Mama always complained about, but as soon as the beep sounded, I was surprised to hear a feminine voice. I recognized it. It existed somewhere in my memory, but not close enough that I could recall it as easily as I might’ve liked to. 

“Hey, Jenn. It’s me again. You didn’t answer the first time, so I thought I’d try the house. Um, I’m just a little worried. Is everything okay? I know we haven’t talked in a while, but your call was kind of out of the blue. I just wanna make sure everything’s okay. Can you call me back once you get this? I know it’s late, but… yeah. Anyways, just uh call me back, okay?”

I hadn’t heard my aunt’s voice since my tenth birthday, nearly three years ago now. As far as I knew, she and Mama simply didn’t talk. Mama didn’t bring her up and the looks we received whenever we mentioned her quickly led to her name becoming almost a taboo in our household. A small part of me wanted to take it and hit the redial button to call my aunt back, to ask her if Mama had called her to let her know when she’d be home. Why hadn’t Mama called to leave me a message yet? Would she be home soon?

I might’ve done so if not for the knowledge that Mama could find out and any apology I might receive for being left home alone would be quickly swept away. So instead, I went back to the couch I’d made my nest in, clearing away the blankets and refolding them neatly over the back of the cushions. Keeping everything tidy was the quickest way to show Mama I could be responsible home alone. Maybe this was a test. Maybe she was leaving me alone to see if I could handle it. Maybe she wanted to see if I was as wild as the boys, or if I was as calm as I tried to make her see I was. Maybe….

Maybes led me back into the kitchen where the microwave clock flashed an eerie ten pm warning. They held tightly to my fingers as they placed nice dishes back into their respective cupboards. All those maybes kept swirling around until they carried me upstairs, into my bedroom and under the covers. They seeped into my dreams. Maybe if I could show Mama I was responsible, she’d let me do things other than school and chores. She’d let me go to my friends’ houses. She’d let me bring friends over. She’d tell me I did a good job today. Let me watch cartoons on Sunday instead of getting the boys up and dressed. Let me see pictures of Papa. 

Before I knew it, my dreams were pulled away once again. At first, I thought it was the phone again. I was already peeling off my covers, fully intending to pick it up this time before I realized the sound lacked the familiarity of the phone. There was no constant, instead, this went up and down, and in my half-asleep state, I nearly thought I was still dreaming. If not for the subsequent pounding on the door and the red and blue lights that flickered against my curtains, I might’ve believed it. 

Similar to the phone, Mama told us never to answer the door when she wasn’t home. Even if she was, it was her job to see who was there, especially if it was someone whose presence meant I needed to shepherd the boys back to their room before disappearing to mine. It was hard to listen though, when I knew who was here. As I pulled my shades to one side, I could see the black and white police cars, accompanied by a small blue car I didn’t recognize. It was dark out, the lights from the top of the cars the only thing lighting up our front yard aside from the moon. Before I could even make the decision to listen to Mama or not, I heard a noise like a small crash and then the voices from outside were suddenly louder. 

There was almost no time to think about what was happening as heavy footsteps echoed through the house. I was peering around the door when the hall light flicked on, revealing a face I’d never seen before. The eyes of the woman who met me were surprised, the way Mama got when Andrew cleaned up something on his own. But who was she? And where was Mama? This woman was wearing a uniform. I recognized it only from seeing other police officers on the streets and the few that came into school to talk to us about one thing or another. She spoke low into a radio by her shoulder before taking a few steps toward me. 

“Do you live here?” Her voice was much softer than the harsh ones that had been coming from downstairs and the few that had disappeared down the other end of the hall, towards Mama’s room. It was almost as if, when she spoke, everything in the house stopped moving again. I nodded, not removing my hands from the door frame as we stood there. It felt like I was being scrutinized, despite the fact that every few moments, the officer’s eyes would dart over to the side or to where a different officer stood. “I think there’s someone you know outside.” My eyes jumped from where they’d been lingering on her badge back to her face. I beamed. Mama had come back! I didn’t know why she was back with police or why it took her so long, but I knew she was going to be back eventually. I practically skipped after the officer as she led the way to the front door. I frowned, seeing how the wood was splintered by the hinges, but the thought of seeing Mama replaced it with a grin.

Only it wasn’t Mama at all.

As I stood on the porch, looking towards that unfamiliar blue car, I saw a woman who looked like Mama, but it clearly wasn’t her. I realized after a moment that I hadn’t actually seen my aunt in a long time. Just like Papa, there were no photos of her in the house, and the most I ever interacted with her was on birthday phone calls. I don’t know if she saw my face fall or not, but it didn’t seem to matter to her as she practically ran forward and wrapped her arms around my shoulders. I tried not to think about the fact that she hugged me tighter than Mama ever had. Likely tighter than Mama would’ve if she was back. 

“Oh God, Natalie, I’m so glad to see you--”

“Where’s Mama?” My voice was muffled against her shirt, but I knew she heard me. The stiffening of her body was something she and Mama shared. She pulled back and I found myself a little disappointed by it. As she bent at the waist to brush a piece of hair off of my forehead, I almost swore her eyes were filled with tears. In the dark it was hard to tell. 

“We aren’t sure right now. We thought you were with her.” We. Who was we? “How long have you been home alone?” I recounted to her the way I arrived home from school only to find the house empty. I told her about the note, about how Mama had said she was taking the boys to the dentist. The way her eyebrows furrowed made me wonder if I’d said something wrong. “Why didn’t you call? What did you do when you got home?” I looked at her incredulously, unsure why she thought I would ever break Mama’s rules about the phone.

“I washed the dishes.”

[edogawatranslations]

Danganronpa Kirigiri (3) - Chapter 4, Part 1

Table of Contents | Previous: Chapter 3, Part 2

Chapter 4 - The Phantom Beyond the Door

9:00 PM.

It was getting to be the time when a normal kid would have to return home or else face the wrath of their parents, but for Kyoko and me, the night was just getting started.

We made our way to the station and hopped onto a train. This time, we weren’t heading for the ocean—our route would take us towards the mountains.

Of the six cases we were responsible for, the closest location was the Takeda Haunted Mansion. The cost was 161 million yen, higher than that of the very first Duel Noir I had been summoned for, which had a cost of 120 million yen.

I coerced a hallmate into lending me her laptop and looked up the location. Similar to previous Duel Noir sites, the Takeda Haunted Mansion was rumored among occult fanatics to be haunted by spirits.

The Takeda clan, consisting of descendants of warlord Shingen Takeda, had been a family of influential landholders who held tremendous power in the region from two hundred years ago up until World War II. With their might, they mercilessly suppressed uprisings and squashed revolts, leading to them being feared as the Takeda Headhunters for a time.

However, their domain was ravaged during the war, and with their honor fading, the surviving descendants settled into a quiet agrarian lifestyle. Time continued to pass, and the rapid depopulation of the village and the passing of the family patriarch resulted in the decrepit Japanese-style household being left abandoned in the darkness. And thus, the once-glorious mansion lost its prestige, becoming nothing more than one of the many haunted locations across the country. According to the online rumors, souls of fallen warriors wander the grounds, and any sentient beings who dare to venture inside are chased around by cackling, floating severed heads.

Everything about the Takeda Haunted Mansion made it seem like an apt location for a Duel Noir.

After spending an hour on the express train, Kyoko and I disembarked at a gloomy unmanned station.

“Geez, it’s cold...”

A piercing chill assaulted me the moment I stepped out onto the platform. My breath painted the air white around my face. The frigid air of the mountain basin was rapidly sucking the warmth from my body.

With our heads buried in our scarves, Kyoko and I huddled close together and passed through the ticket gate.

We took one step out from the station building and immediately found ourselves enveloped by an endless blackness. Stretching out straight before us was a narrow path, dimly lit by isolated streetlamps that invited us forward into the world of darkness. Only in the faint light could we make out the sight of falling snow.

“Maybe we should’ve come at a different time. I don’t think there’s much we can do here...” I sighed, beginning to regret our decision.

The night scenery was suffocating. Why must our destination be a haunted mansion of all places?

Kyoko remained glued to my side.

“Don’t worry, we won’t run into any ghosts,” I reassured her.

“I’m only staying close because I’m cold,” she replied curtly. However, her restless eyes told a different story.

The taxi we reserved in advance appeared out of thin air and drove up to us. A somber expression lingered on the driver’s face. He didn’t even bother to glance at us. The two of us hesitated to get in for a moment, but as we had no other way to reach our destination, we entered the vehicle.

“Where to?” the driver asked with a low, rough voice.

“Do you know where the Takeda Mansion is?” I asked in response.

The driver let out a slightly surprised grunt of affirmation and stepped on the gas pedal. His reaction intrigued me, but I intentionally didn’t pursue the matter.

Kyoko silently gazed out the window, appearing to be lost in thought. Not a ray of light shone outside. Like a submarine, the taxi dove deeper and deeper into the night.

After about half an hour, the sloping road we were on led us to a dead end surrounded by a bamboo thicket. Towering just beyond it was the jet black silhouette of a mansion, which stood out even in the endless void of darkness.

Two cars were parked between the menacingly swaying bamboo shoots—a Mercedes-Benz and a small red car.

“Kyoko, do you think—”

As its name suggested, the Takeda Haunted Mansion was supposed to be an abandoned haunted house. Its residents had long gone. With that in mind, the relatively new cars parked before the building meant that someone was visiting the mansion.

An unnerving feeling washed over me.

An inch or two of snow had accumulated on both cars. Judging by the day’s snowfall, they had been parked there for no less than a few hours. The tire marks had already been covered and rendered untraceable by the snow.

“Ladies... we’ve arrived,” the taxi driver said with a low voice.

I paid the fare and opened the door, when the driver continued.

“Excuse me for asking... but is something happening here tonight?”

“I’m not sure... Do you have some sort of idea?”

“I drove a young man here around noon... Even in this chilly weather, he had on a Hawaiian shirt, so I found him rather... peculiar...”

The driver’s voice transformed into a mumble towards the end, so I couldn’t quite catch what he said.

At any rate, multiple people seemed to be gathered at the mansion today. Since we knew there would be a Duel Noir here, whoever they were had to be involved. I grew more and more worried.

“Kyoko, let’s hurry.”

The two of us got out of the vehicle and rushed towards the mansion.

In the bamboo thicket stood an old gate that had been left wide open. We slipped through and ran down the stepping stone path towards the mansion entrance.

Finally, the mansion with its tiled roof came into view. A dim light shined through the frosted glass at the door. This wasn’t any haunted mansion—someone was inside.

I looked around for a doorbell, but couldn’t find anything of the sort. I then placed my hand against the door, and it opened with ease. It was unlocked.

“What should we do?” I asked Kyoko.

“We’ve come too far to worry about trespassing.”

I nodded. “Excuse me! Is anyone inside?” I yelled down the hallway. 

No response.

Multiple pairs of shoes were lined up in the spacious entryway. Leather loafers, stilettos, straw zori, sandals, and sneakers. At least five people were inside. I was a little surprised by the wide variety of shoes.

“Let’s head in.”

We took off our shoes and started down the hallway. An eclectic collection of ink wash and oil paintings lined the walls. Despite being rumored as a haunted place, the mansion’s interior was stunning and in pristine condition. That was something that all buildings used for Duel Noirs seemed to share—the Committee most likely carried out renovations to ensure all the locations were perfect for their games.

As we wandered down the hall in search of any signs of life, we suddenly heard a voice echo out from further in the mansion.

“Hey, please open the door!”

It was a man’s voice.

Was someone trapped?

Racing towards the source of the voice, we turned down corridor after corridor before stumbling across a spacious living room. Since the sliding doors facing the hallway were all open, we were able to peek inside. A number of books and plastic bottles were stacked on the glass table, implying that someone had been there until recently. The sight reminded me of a scene upon a ghost ship from a horror movie I once saw. A shiver ran down my spine.

We continued until we reached the end of the hallway, where I felt a cold breeze blowing through a slightly ajar door.

This was it.

“Please open up!”

The voice was coming from the other side.

I grabbed the doorknob and opened the door.

“What’s wrong?”

A short hallway extended out, with windows along the right wall. Drain pipes crossed the unfinished concrete floor beneath my feet, and cold air rose up from below.

At the end of the hallway stood a group of men and women, who were gathered around another door.

“Huh? Who’re you guys?!”

A burly man in a Hawaiian shirt pointed a finger at us. He matched the description of the person mentioned by the taxi driver. His messy hair was styled into a pompadour, and he had on a flashy gold necklace and bracelet. He looked like your run-of-the-mill thug, but so much so that it seemed like he was making an intentional fashion statement.

“The hell is goin’ on... This ain’t good...”

He seemed to be at a loss.

“Were you all invited as guests here too?”

The question was posed to us by a woman in a kimono. She had on glasses and sported a bob-cut. Her body was small like a child, but the wise beauty radiating from her face seemed to suggest she was in her late-20s. She looked like a grown-up doll.

“Y-Yeah, that’s right. Sorry for arriving late.” I replied. “Why are all of you gathered around here? Is someone trapped inside?”

“Trapped inside? More like locked himself inside. Look, there’s an old geezer on the other side, but like, he won’t respond no matter how much we call out. Kyahaha.”

A woman with light brown hair in a garish, sparkling sweater answered my question. Her face was caked in makeup. That, along with her miniskirt and intentionally revealed cleavage, made her seem like someone you’d run into at a nightclub.

“The two of you are number six and seven to wander into this mansion today.”

The last to speak was a man over six feet tall with a model-like figure, wearing an expensive suit and sunglasses. He had a bit of an accent, and he looked to be of mixed race. The voice I heard earlier from the hallway belonged to him. He must have been calling out to the person behind the locked door.

“Enough, we gotta grill that guy on the other side. He knows somethin’ ‘bout all this. But the door ain’t even locked, so why can’t we get in? This is bullshit.”

The man was shaking the door. There didn’t seem to be any keyhole, but the door wouldn’t open. Strangely enough, the door seemed to give way slightly when being pulled, but there was some resistance from the inside.

To summarize the situation—

These people had been called to this mansion, and a man had holed up on the other side of the door.

“Did the man inside do something bad?” I asked.

The spectacled woman responded. “No, that isn’t it. We think he might have all of the answers we’re looking for, about why we were called here.”

That answer cleared up some of my confusion.

Most likely, they had come to this mansion after receiving an invitation from the criminal behind this Duel Noir. However, with the sender failing to appear, they were in the dark about why they were called here and what to do next. That was when one man locked himself behind the door, and wouldn’t come out. And so, the others began wondering if that man knew more than he had let on...

At least, that was my theory of things.

“Why won’t this door open? Feels like someone’s pullin’ back on the other side. Hey, open up already!”

“Yui,” Kyoko whispered into my ear. “The challenge card listed rubber bands as an item. Maybe, just maybe...”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

At that moment, a strange noise came from inside the room.

All of us in the hallway quickly fell silent, so as to not drown out the sound.

An object crashing into something else.

A man’s muffled voice.

Something heavy collapsing onto the ground, followed by a faint vibration.

And then silence.

“H-Hey, somethin’ happen in there?” the man in the Hawaiian shirt asked, while vigorously and repeatedly jiggling the door.

“Don’t shake the door like that. Try giving it one strong pull,” Kyoko suggested.

“S-Sure, worth a try.”

The man slicked back his pompadour, grabbed ahold of the doorknob, and channeled all of his strength into the pull.

For a brief moment, a gap formed in the door, large enough to see through to the other side.

“Did you see inside just now?”

“Nah, it’s all dark. Couldn’t see a thing.”

“No, I noticed something just on the other side of the door. Please try pulling the door once again,” the man in the sunglasses requested.

The man in the Hawaiian shirt complied, and tugged the door once again—

“Hmm... I see, it appears that the other side of the door has been sealed with string or some sort of band. Does anyone have scissors or a box cutter with them? If we cut through, we may be able to open the door.”

“Oh, if any old cutter will do...” I took off my backpack and took out a stationery knife from my pencil case.

“This will do. Mr. Yaki, the door, please.”

“Fine, lemme show you a real man's strength!” After rolling up his sleeves and flexing his muscles, he once again grabbed the doorknob. “Get ready! Time to rock ‘n’ roll!”

He pulled the door with all his strength.

“Perfect, keep it like that.”

Following the other man’s instructions, the man in the Hawaiian shirt held the door firmly open.

The man in the sunglasses slipped the knife into the gap and began cutting.

“Got it!”

The next moment, the man in the Hawaiian shirt tumbled backwards onto the floor, flung back by the sudden lack of resistance.

But nobody paid him any mind.

The man in the sunglasses flicked the light switch on, and everyone’s eyes gravitated towards the abnormal sight on the other side of the door.

I let out a gulp.

The pitiful thing my eyes fixated upon, collapsed on the floor in the center of the room—

Was a corpse.

An elderly man in monk's clothing was lying face down.

One glance was enough to figure out he was dead.

After all, a katana had been lodged deep in his back.

Next: Chapter 4, Part 2

[bnha-hcs]

Intoxication - Todoroki x Reader

Hewwo it’s Tiki!! I’m still kicking and hoping you all had a happy holidays!! I was busy working so I didn’t have time to do any sort of christmas time events or anything so I’m super gomen. I also had the fun of being told I have extreme bursitis in my arms/shoulders and being on really rough steroids for a week so it’s been interesting... I still have bursitis I think but my doctor says it actually might be something like arthritis so hopefully I’m not dying. Anyways,,,, I’m doing a con this weekend so I’m staying up writing bc why not who needs sleep. Have a little Todo x reader bc I’ve had this in my head for a while. Also please feel free to send in stuff for that fluff alphabet!!

- Tiki

Todoroki had found himself in a bit of a pickle. He knew he liked you, but he had no clue how to act on this information. Whenever he tried to describe the feeling he got in his chest whenever he was with you, everyone said they were feelings of love or adoration. Ochako had gawked at the sound of something like Todoroki having a crush. She, and the other girls in class 1-A made sure not to disclose this information accidentally to you, but it wasn’t without the few fleeting comments here and there. You were a little confused at times, sure, but much like everything else happening at UA that was weird, you seemed to shrug off like water off a duck’s back. Todoroki had no idea how to even breach the subject of feelings for you, so for the meantime, he had chose to stay silent, much to the suspense and torture of his fellow classmates.

At some point everyone knew, but thankfully not you. People would watch the two of you with much interest in the halls, on the battlegrounds, and even outside of class. Today was like any other old day. It was winter, you walked next to him on the sidewalk on school grounds, and your hands looked awfully cold. Todoroki being his usually aloof self didn’t really think of anything until he saw you fervently breathing your hot breath onto them, watching you with a little curiosity. He could’ve sworn you had gloves before, unless he wasn’t paying attention… But there was something about it that had him reaching for both of your hands cupped by your face.

He grabbed your hands, his own face burning with a feeling of foreign emotions coming over him. In his left hand he activated his quirk enough to warm your hands. You looked at him, quite surprised at his actions and not sure what to even say. Your own face suddenly felt a little warmer, but the red of your cheeks was definitely masked by the cold weather.

“You forgot your gloves.” Todoroki said, definitely not a question like he wanted it to be but, well, good enough at this point.

“Y-Yeah…” You had to stutter out, unsure how even to respond.

You managed to keep it together until your hands were warm enough for Todoroki. How you managed that, you had no idea, but you did it and that’s all that mattered to be honest. After that he had continued on like nothing had ever happened. But it did happen!! And by gods it was kinda weirdly exhilarating!! And what was weirder about it was that it wasn’t the last time it was going to happen.

In fact, more weird incidents started to happen that involved the two of you touching for some sort of elongated periods of time. And the more it happened the more you realized you kind of didn’t mind it too much. Being so close in contact to someone you usually saw as so far away was really… satisfying?? But there was a good chance that the two of you were just really two touch starved idiots.

There was some point that you had heard Todoroki mumble something about his hand hurting, probably from training when he had accidentally slipped up. Him slipping up seemed a little fishy for you in the first place but you didn’t question it even though overworking sounded more apt. You had learned some massage techniques before when an old friend of yours helped you fix your broken ass hand from writing cram papers. So when you heard him say something you decided to extend a helping hand in a sense.

You couldn’t lie though, the faces he made when you first started to dig your fingers into his palm were pretty damn cute. He was trying hard not to make a pained face, but you could tell it really did hurt. So you softened your touch for a bit and noticed him visibly relax. For a while you just sat there with him, gently working your way up past his wrist and partially into his forearm, saying something about how it might be rooted there. Todoroki never really paid attention to what exactly you were saying, and that could be credited to him being the aloof pretty boy that he was, but for a hot second, and a very hot second indeed, he felt like he was a little drunk on your touch. Between going back and forth between his open palm, wrist, and his forearm, you would occasionally ghost your touch across his skin, and it made his face flush just the slightest. At some point you saw him look away, because he was just, REALLY TOUCH STARVED, and this was really not helping him and his feelings towards you.

When you were done he had thanked you with a small smile before he left to the boy’s locker room to change back into the school uniform, where some of the others relentlessly questioned him about it. You never knew but he was in a daze the whole rest of the day.

And with every incident he seemed to stay to you more, to the point where he seemed to follow you around like a puppy. It’s not like he was insistent or anything but, he was just always close by. Days would go on as usual and you had grown to really like your friendship with Todoroki. Having him so close by was comforting, and yet, there was that day… the day where his feelings really got the best of him and the dam broke.

Todoroki found himself after school with you as normal. Today however, he felt like things were too much. For example: You always smelled of honeyed incense. The scent alone was intoxicating enough, but today he truly felt drunk on the smell. He felt a little bolder- a little more aware of just how you affected him. So while you talked on about some book you picked up recently, he couldn’t help the look in his eyes. Pure ardor… You didn’t get to notice anything until you finally looked over- the expression of his was so much that it actually blindsided you. It wasn’t long after your initial shock that you found yourself impossibly close to him. He had taken one of your hands in his, holding onto it gently, like he was pleading with you.

You were pretty much glued in place, now gazing into his dual-colored eyes, unsure what to say or do. It was somewhere in that moment that you had a sort of come to god moment and the fact that you LIKED Todoroki as more than a friend flooded in. For so long he had pined after your affection, so now was a good as time as ever to seize it. And now that he was much closer he could better see your face, eyes, travelling over as he inhaled your scent once more. Todoroki had no idea how to kiss anyone, other than the other boys like Denki offering useless words like: “You just… go in…”

He got closer, and for a second he hesitated, ghosting his lips over yours very teasingly, although you knew it was out of hesitation. Moving away his lips brushed over your cheek, him mumbling quietly to you.

“Is this... okay?” He breathed, leaving you to wordlessly sigh, head nodding ever so slightly. His lips returned to yours as he placed a tentative first kiss. Soft and smooth, his lips brushed languidly across yours a second time, holding them there for just a few seconds. Your eyes were heavily lidded if not closed as you tried your best to kiss back. The hand he’d been using to hold yours abandoned its place in order to serve as a hook to pull you closer. His arm found itself resting on your waist, and as his lips slowly pressed down on your bottom, and then top lip, you felt your scalp prickle while your face became heated and your mind hazy.

For a second he leaves your lips, hovering over them very slightly, letting you take a quick gasp of air before he gently presses his lips back to yours. He’s gentle again, until he feels like he can be a bit firmer, and his kisses become a little insistent. So you reciprocate in kind, meeting him halfway in terms of passion, your own still building, slowly discovering this. It’s then you come to find that Todoroki is a very needy kisser, and as he presses more and more into you, you let yourself be taken on this newfound feeling.

So with the crisp winter day you decide to let yourselves partake in the new intoxication of first kisses and shared love.

[christophe-delorne]

Good Dog

Chapter 10

Warnings: None

Pairings: Gregory x Christophe

AU: Adulthood

The house was what he'd describe as... homey. Not really an apt descriptor, but it fit and it was all Christophe could come up with at the moment. Like one of those cookie cutter American Dream homes, with a little porch out front fixed with a hanging swing. Picturesque. And everything about it rubbed Christophe the wrong way. It reminded him of his mother's home when he was a child, the way she strained so hard to make everything perfect on the outside when everything on the inside was crumbling within.

To make matters worse, Gregory had made him dress 'decently' as he put it. Chocolate brown slacks, silk hunter green button up top. He looked like a suburban husband with his hair combed and face clean shaven, everything that he was not. He'd been warned several times on their way here to behave, a lofty expectation coming from the likes of Christophe, especially considering who's home they were going in.

He didn't particularly blame Stan and Kyle for his death, but they hadn't really given a shit either. They were kids, Christophe should have known better than to even think about putting such a responsibility on them. He should've went alone, maybe then he wouldn't have died. The sole blame of his death was on the kid named Eric Cartman, the boy hadn't turned off the alarms, didn't have enough spine to overcome his fears and eventually had failed everyone. He supposed he could blame Kenny as well, being he'd been the source of fear in Eric, but the boy had enough shit on his plate and Kenny's sacrifice had brought Christophe back. So they were even.

As Christophe mulled through his thoughts, Gregory pressed the button on the doorbell to gain the attention of the residents inside. Christophe could hear the muffled talking, the tapping of feet on hardwood floors as someone neared the door. When the door opened, it revealed Wendy, she was dressed nicely, her hair styled casually. Her loose blouse was slightly feminine but never too out there, regardless, the way she held herself was something that probably had drawn Gregory in. The reminder was slightly annoying to Christophe and already he was yearning for a cigarette, but Gregory had taken them from him. No smoking on this night.

"Gregory, nice that you could stop by, come in, the dinner is almost ready." Polite as usual with Gregory, but the look Christophe received was just above scathing. The feeling was mutual.

"Of course, I can't pass up spending some time with some dear old friends." Gregory held up a bottle of wine, some expensive wine that Christophe hadn't paid attention to. Despite being French, Christophe didn't fall into the stereotype of liking wine. "I brought a little something to top it all off." Gregory smiled as he followed after Wendy, leaving Christophe to slink behind with his hands in his pockets.

As they entered the small dining area, Christophe spotted a man with black hair sitting at the table, he didn't look too keen on being in nice clothes either. When he noticed Gregory, he gave a small frown but kept himself in check. Still seemed he wasn't all too fond of Gregory being friends with Wendy, Christophe could relate with that at least. "Hey, Gregory. Long time no see." Probably had to be on his best behavior as well, considering the warning look Wendy had given Stan before entering the kitchen.

"Pleasure as well, Stan. Its good to see you're doing well." Gregory, ever the charmer as he pulled out a seat but didn't take it. Instead, blue eyes looked over to Christophe, indicating he should sit. Christophe scowled, eyes narrowing and causing the wrinkles in the corners of his eyes to become harsher. The man was toying with him. Pulling out his seat like they were on some date? Christophe took a moment to consider the situation. Maybe Gregory was thinking with his dick again and Christophe didn't like the idea of Gregory going back to his girl in London after all of this. If Christophe let Gregory get away with these sort of things, they would likely only escalate and leave Christophe in ruins. Again.

However, he didn't want to start a fight right now, even though it was tempting to lash out at everyone in the house at the moment. Gregory and indicated he needed Christophe there and Christophe couldn't say no to that. Despite everything, Christophe would always be loyal to the Brit. He sat down in the chair as Gregory pushed it in in the same motion. Formal and smooth as always. Gregory took the seat next to him, which left two empty chairs at the table. Christophe wasn't certain if it was just because they had guests over often or they were expecting one more, so he took to observing the house around him.

There were pictures on the wall, not a lot, just a few here and there between decorations. He didn't take Stan as the type to decorate, from the short time knowing him as kids. Stan had been realistic, but at the time he'd been focused on jealousy between Gregory and Wendy. Didn't seem like he grew out of that jealous streak either. Wendy, while political, did tend to enjoy some feminine things, finding some sort of strong balance with what she liked. So the decor was likely all her, simple yet fitting for the small house. As Christophe took stock of the interior, he noticed there were three people in most of the pictures. A red head he assumed was Kyle. He remembered Kyle fairly well, it was the last face he'd seen before he had died.

While it may seem like Kyle had been sympathetic, holding onto Christophe so he wouldn't die alone. They were strangers, he expected no tears from the other boy. Kyle was sympathetic but with a aggressive streak with the possibility to turn out more like his mom than he would've liked. Luckily, Christophe hadn't heard any news about a war breaking out in America, the violence there was the usual. So the empty chair might mean that Kyle could be coming over, which didn't bode well for Christophe. All the people he tried so hard to forget were popping up in his life again, all at once.

"I hear you're moving up in the construction business, Stan." Christophe zoned back to the conversation that was going on without him. Gregory had always been able to hold a conversation, putting all the attention on himself and letting Christophe relax in the background.

"Yeah, my company was ranked number one in Denver this year. MBP just signed us on to lead the construction of their new facility in Colorado Springs." Stan replied, gaining Christophe's attention. MBP was the same company that Mr. Hall said that had hired him to outsource drugs in Europe. Christophe slid his gaze to Gregory suspiciously, had he been getting close to Wendy because she had connections? Well, it certainly was something Testaburger would be interested in, the woman was a lawyer up front, but an activist in her free time. Maybe if he stuck with Gregory and Wendy on the ride to the hotel, he might have a little more information.

Before the conversation could continue on, Christophe heard the front door unlock and open, causing him to tense, ready to stand up. He hated being in another person's home, he had no real control here, didn't know the layout of the house, who would be able to come and go. The new guest rounded the corner to the dining room and Christophe recognized the face, slightly curly red hair, a bit of a mess, was a telling sign. It seemed Christophe was right to think Kyle would be joining them.

"Sorry I'm late, I got held up at the lab." Kyle smiled as he first took in Stan and Wendy, though it faltered when he noticed Gregory and Christophe. Apparently he hadn't been informed they were coming, though the 'why' was the part that interested Christophe. Certainly something like dinner guests would be alright to tell those who would also be joining. Though, those green eyes seemed to stick to Christophe, staring at him like he'd seen a ghost. Probably not far off from the truth either. Christophe hadn't told anyone he'd returned back to life, Gregory had only known because he'd gone searching for Christophe's body, the only one who had. Gregory had apparently told Wendy though, how much was beyond Christophe's knowledge though.

"Shit." Was all Kyle could say after a moment's pause, it seemed given that small amount of time, he'd been able to process how Christophe was here. Kyle had been there, had seen the result of the war but probably just hadn't thought that it had effected Christophe as well. Probably better off that way, the less people knew about him, the better. Though, coming back here was messing up that plan, luckily only four people really knew what the 'Mole' looked like, other than Gregory. Christophe was tempted to take that number down to zero, but that would throw a wrench into Gregory's plan.

"Kyle, you're just in time, dinner's ready." Wendy broke the tension as she brought out a couple of pre-made plates. "I tried a new recipe that was suggested to me from Bebe, so you guys are my guinea pigs for the night." She set down a plate in front of Stan and one in front of the empty chair that was for Kyle.

"What is it?" Stan looked a little confused by the plate, but didn't seem like he was complaining.

"Cider-braised Chicken-and-Fennel Panzanella." Wendy stated pleasantly, despite Stan's even more confused look. The man seemed to shrug as Wendy went back to retrieve more plates, but Kyle followed after her, planning to help out. With Kyle's assistance, the table was set up with plates, silverware, and wine glasses. Gregory took the liberty to pour the wine into the glasses, insisting Wendy and Kyle to set and let him at least handle this.

"This looks gorgeous, Wendy. Thank you for inviting us over, I simply couldn't pass up spending some time with dear old friends while I'm here in America." Gregory sat back down, this whole time he hadn't passed a single glance in Christophe's direction. The Frenchman was already poking at his food, fairly used to eating things he didn't really understand the names of. Well, by now he did know as Gregory enjoyed explaining things to him and no matter how much Christophe tried to ignore him, the information stuck. Technically, this dish was served during the autumn months and right now it was just hitting summer, the flavor of cider was supposed to make people feel... He didn't know the world for it but people traditionally did things in certain seasons to feel in the moment with that season.

Gregory likely knew this but chose not to mention it in favor of being polite, irritating Christophe that he could remember such useless knowledge. Why couldn't he replace it with something that would benefit him, like remembering his passport numbers. Once Gregory began to eat, Christophe followed after, a habit picked up when they were kids, when Gregory took their roles a bit more literally. 'The master eats before the dogs', the words still stuck with him to this day, most of the time he didn't notice it was so far ingrained into him. The food was decent enough, Christophe was never really picky unless he wanted to spite a certain someone. A free meal was a free meal.

"So, Kyle, Wendy has informed me that you require outside assistance on a certain matter?" Gregory finally broached a topic Christophe was more interested in than the drivel they had been conversing about during most of the dinner. Kyle looked over in surprise at Wendy, who merely shrugged and took a sip of her wine, she didn't seem apologetic.

"Well, yes, I wasn't really sure if I was serious about it or not." He gave a look at Wendy, a glare almost. "But I'm having moral issues with the company I work for."

"And what, pray tell, company would that be?" Gregory pressed as if he already didn't know the answer.

"MBP, I'm one of the researchers working there. My team and I... We only meant to create something that would help boost low immune systems, to help aid the cure of diseases. It wasn't a sure thing to cure, but it would greatly increase the chances of other medications and therapy working." Kyle looked down at his plate, pushing around bits of leftover food he hadn't finished eating. Maybe guilt was slowing his appetite. "With the boost in immunity, the side-effects were both good and bad. It made people feel on top of the world. A high almost. But it was also addicting and prolonged use caused severe hallucinations."

Gregory sat back in his chair, appearing as if Kyle was regaling a fanciful story, looking as noble as his blood would indicate. Kyle continued on when Gregory didn't ask anything, "We were planning to go back to the drawing board, addiction to medication is already bad enough as it is, so we wanted to see if we could at least lessen the side-effects a little. However, our CEO got wind of the drug and decided we should continue on with it. I don't agree with the decision, but I could easily be replaced at this point. So I decided to stay on board, it would be better to get information on what was going on."

"Which is why I'm here." Gregory concluded setting his empty wine glass down. "A wise choice on Wendy's part to contact me. You don't have the necessary skill to really take down an empire like MBP and when dealing with drugs, I can only assume the company would monitor their finest scientist. In case of any insurrections that may happen."

"How do you plan on stopping this?" Kyle seemed anxious but the determination to join in on the discussion was reaffirmed now that stopping MBP became an almost realistic outcome now.

"Ah, I can't let you in on the details, least someone in the company begins to suspect you. Wendy would be most upset with me if I let you in harm's way." There was an unspoken 'again' at the end of his sentence, Gregory had let Kyle and Stan go into a dangerous USO show, but Wendy hadn't been the only one who had someone they cared about go in to a brewing warzone. "For now, I simply need you to write down your daily routine, as much knowledge of the security in the building as you know and then hand it to me. Let me take care of the rest."

Kyle seemed dissatisfied with that, dropping his fork on the plate and pressing his hands on the table. "You can't expect me to sit on the sidelines, I'm as much of a part of this as anyone else! It was my mistake."

Stan reached over, placing a hand on Kyle's shoulder in attempts to calm him down, but Kyle brushed him off, his Jersey temper seemed to have flared and would take time to stifle back down. Gregory didn't seem too concerned, pouring himself another glass of wine before replying to Kyle.

"If you want this plan to work, then it is best you sit this one out. I, for one, am not going to make the mistake of trusting you or your friends would be capable of carrying out a mission again. Not after last time."

[valaldrif]

Walking on the Sun | Drabble

Length: 4.2K words

Warning: Some crass language but otherwise very safe for 13+

Synopsis: Brunnhilde and Aldrif are sent to Midgard, and nonsense ensues. 

Aldrif wheezed a laugh still from the ground, and the pitiful sound had Brunn moving to extend her hand to help her up. “Still preferable to the chill of Hel and the dead,” the smaller woman informed her companion, dusting herself off, “though that could just be my newfound freedom talking.”

“Or a concussion.”

BLACK—the intermediary space between dimensions was black as pitch. No stars or cosmic light shone in this in-between, and the little light offered by Hel’s grey, misty skies was gone in a blink as the two women were pulled through space by what felt like tight, ether fingers squeezing around their ribcages and sucking them down, down, down this narrowing passage between worlds. One second passed, and then another, and just as the pressure began bearing down from above and the sides of them, a small portal of pale beige, brown, and blue glimmered below, and both women were sucked through the open pocket and spat out into another realm.

+++++++

MOJAVE DESERT

AUGUST 5

11:23 AM

“Oh, fuck!” Brunnhilde’s voice hissed as soon as air had filled her lungs again. Aldrif was still gasping for breath beside her, also having landed on her supplies, but was too winded to right herself just yet. Lain back, she brought a hand up to shield her eyes from the scorching light directly overhead. “You would think—” she took a long, rasping breath, “—they would give some warning.”

Beige dust was still swirling around the pair after their fall—and subsequent crash landing—from the sky. And as if choking in space and the hard earth breaking their fall weren’t enough, the dry dust they’d conjured both blew in their eyes and caught in their lungs, leaving the both of them sore, cranky, and hacking up clouds of the stuff.

“It was certainly no Bifrost trip,” Brunn grumbled out, attempting to turn on her side without grimacing. Shrugging off her supplies, she managed to pull herself upright off of the ground and sit herself on her knees with some effort. “Though I don’t think knowing how much it would hurt beforehand would at all have prevented the pain of directly hitting the ground.”

Aldrif still laid out on her back, breathing heavy and clenching her eyes closed beneath the direct light of the sun. “I suppose not,” she breathed, taking another moment before moving to prop herself up on her elbows in the dirt, “but it still would have been nice to know.”

Brunnhilde pushed herself from the ground and managed to stand, if slightly wobbly. She nodded a little at her friend’s comment before facing the beating sun with a hand over her brow. “Stars,” she huffed out the word, “it’s hotter than Surtur’s sack here.”

Aldrif wheezed a laugh still from the ground, and the pitiful sound had Brunn moving to extend her hand to help her up. “Still preferable to the chill of Hel and the dead,” the smaller woman informed her companion, dusting herself off, “though that could just be my newfound freedom talking.”

“Or a concussion,” Brunnhilde cut her glance sidelong to her friend’s smile in their strange situation before sighing out, her shoulders releasing her tension, and evaluating their supplies strewn across the desert floor. She knelt down to unlatch their bags and begin rifling through them.

“Anything damaged?” Aldrif loomed over her friend, not quite willing to fall back onto the ground just yet. Her shadow peered over to watch her work.

“You know,” Brunn began, “if you are certain you do not care to properly become a Valkyrie—formally rather than through mere upbringing—you would make the loveliest tree.” Her face tipped upward to appreciate the cool shade Aldrif’s shadow brought.

Aldrif made a scoffing noise, sidestepping out of her stance and letting blinding sunlight fall on her friend’s face.

“Agh!” Brunn’s serene expression immediately recoiled as bright, startling light shone through the thin skin of her eyelids. She blinked in a rapid succession, shaking her head to dispel the white bursting shapes flashing in her vision. “It was a compliment, you know!”

“You called me a tree!” Aldrif laughed out her incredulity.

Squinting, Brunnhilde spared a glance up to her friend. “No, I said that you would make a lovely tree, in terms of skill, not in appearance. You are very pleasantly woman-shaped,” she attempted to amend. “Besides, you are far too short to be an actual tree,” she turned back to inspecting their supply packs.

“‘Pleasantly woman-shaped?’” Aldrif shook her head, grinning, “Is anything damaged?” She tried again.

Brunn sorted through the first bag quickly—extra sets of clothes, waterskin and food, copious amounts of gold coin. All sat undisturbed for the most part, if slightly squished. Nimble fingers turned the second bag over next, the leather warm and smooth in her grasp, and its contents largely the same. Clothing, water, food, coin. All in decent condition.  

“Nothing broken or leaking to report,” Brunnhilde moved to stand, throwing a braid behind her back and hefting the first pack over her shoulder.  She dusted off the other before handing it Aldrif’s way.

“Wonderful, thank you,” her friend murmured, reluctantly taking the bag and adjusted it to fit somewhat comfortably at her back, though the weight of the coins had the strap digging into her skin no matter what.

Brunnhilde readjusted the pack on her own shoulder for what must have been the fifth time since leaving Folkvangr, Freyja’s personal hall. “Where did Freyja even get all of this Midgardian gold anyway?” she muttered under the strain.

Aldrif tried to shrug. “She claims the Midgardians offered it to her as a gift when last she was here. That would have been centuries and centuries ago on this realm, though.”

“And they just gave it to her?” Brunn gave a disbelieving look at that. This had not even been the extent of it all, merely what they had managed to carry with them. 

Aldrif could only shrug again. “Really, I am less worried about where it came from than if it is still used as some kind of viable currency today.” Her mother had not seemed to want it, at any rate.

“Even if it is antiquated and out of use, surely it must be worth something,” Brunn argued lightly. “Worth more, even, if it holds some historical significance for the people here,” she mused. “My only concern is how we will be able to sell centuries-old coins without drawing attention to ourselves.”

“Draw more attention than emerging from within a desert without proper supplies, you mean?” Aldrif quipped. 

Brunnhilde gave a sigh, long-suffering and deep. “Let’s start walking.”

+++++++

TRADER’S PAWN SHOP

AUGUST 5

2:57 PM

A bell chimed their entrance as they pushed open the door of the dusty brick shopfront. Brunnhilde and Aldrif all but fell inside, their rush to escape the scourge of heat that was the full afternoon sun was so desperate. Both looked about for the shopkeeper (for who else would the bell alert?) but found no one waiting—only shelves.

There must have been over a hundred shelves—lining the walls, stacked back to back, and wedged into any free space the small room that comprised the store had. With each stocked top to bottom with what could reasonably be considered junk, the shelves twined this way and that in a narrow, warren path that led further into the heart of the cluttered shop.

“I almost like it better outside,” Brunnhilde wiped at some of the sweat on her brow with her sleeve.

The two women exchanged a glance before Brunn removed one of the small bags of coin to loop around her waist and entered the nearest strait between two shelves holding some kind of mechanical equipment. Aldrif’s eyes followed the geometric lines of the devices as she passed, most of the rectangular things peppered with rounds dials and empty wire ports. Some were stamped with VCR or AM’s and FM’s, but all sat undisturbed beneath a coat of dust. A curious noise hummed at the back of her throat, but she continued on, keeping pace with her sword-sister as they forged ahead.

It was slower moving than they were used to in order to avoid knocking into the shelves, but it was steady. As the light from the front windows faded and withdrew their shadows, the humming fluorescent lights above head guided their path through the maze—an unfortunately apt description considering how many dead ends they had come across already in navigating the shop.

“Do you think all of Midgard’s shops are just as bestrewn as this?” Her gaze fell over a line of frayed boots, all of varying styles and colors and all inexplicably missing their match.

“Stars, I hope not,” Brunnhilde breathed, pulling in an elbow to keep from knocking it into a tower of kitchen pans leaning precariously over their ledge. “I’ll stack these damned shelves upon one another and climb my way back to Hel if they are.”

Aldrif huffed out a laugh. “And break the terms of your banishment?” she lowered her tone to something scandalized, “oh Brunn, when will this delinquent streak of yours end? Not that I am complaining, of course,” she was quick to follow up with, “for if you had not been banished for a cycle, I would not have had an excuse to leave Valhalla.”

“I am glad that one of us has found the light in this situation,” Brunnhilde glanced back to scoff at her friend’s teasing, only to have her smile drop as she turned and saw that they’d come to yet another dead end.

“Damn,” she sighed at the wall of dusty luggage. Dropping her pack to the floor with a hard clank, Brunn rolled her shoulder back, massaging at the tension built from the weight of her bag.

“I understand her reasoning,” she started, “and the purpose of the particular law. The Valkyrior are sisters bonded through trust; we train together, we fight together, and we are sworn to protect one another. To court a fellow Valkyrie, to elevate that romantic bond over those of your sworn sisters, potentially endangers the Valkyrior as a whole, especially during battle, if you are more concerned for your lover than your other sisters.” Brunn shook her shoulder out one more time before loading up her bag again and heading back out to retrace their steps.

“And to have a higher-ranking sister seen to be breaking the rules without punishment … that is chaos waiting to happen,” she shook her head, turning a corner where before they had traveled straight through. “I do not regret it, cannot regret what I have with Kàra … but I understand Freyja’s position and the precautions she took. It’s logical.”

“It’s hypocritical,” Aldrif pursed her lips. “She writes her own rules for others to follow but does not have a care to follow them herself—”

“Aldrif—” Brunn’s voice was soft but a warning.

“No, no, I know. Not the place or time,” she waved off the excuse with a roll of her eyes. “In any case, I argued against banishment on your behalf, to no avail. As per usual, Mother would not listen.”

Brunnhilde did not have to look behind her to picture the sour expression twisting the other woman’s mouth. Rather, she merely rounded the next corner and laughed lightly to herself, “I never had a doubt that you would,” she said, “however unnecessary it would be.”

Brunn’s paused at the next turn. Rather than another set of bookcases, the winding labyrinth had finally ended, and they came out to what must have been the back of the store. Cramped still, there was at least enough room for three people to walk shoulder-to-shoulder without knocking anything over, a welcome improvement over having to walk single-file. There were still bookcases lining the open space of the room, all stocked with the first books they had seen since first entering the shop, but while there was the odd loose-leaf parchment sheet or scroll, most were bound in leather and embossed at the spine with the work’s title.

More prominently, however, were the glass cases occupying the center of the space. Separate from those of the inhabitants lining the shelves behind them, these items were clearly being cared for, their cases carefully dusted and glass shined.

The first item to draw Aldrif’s gaze was a set of silver gauntlets. They appeared sturdy and, if she had to guess, Thanagarian. The distinctive nth metal barely glinted in the light but thrummed with trapped energy, as if in reaction to having been seen. She dragged her gaze down the line of cases, noting even more items of extraterrestrial origin: a rusted Tamaranian tiara, a ring-sized, intact Zamaron crystal, and a small, glowing cybernetic eye that blinked at irregular intervals. Aldrif gave a smile and wave to the blinking thing, and Pegas the Pirate King’s eye followed the pair of women as they continued past the case.

“How curious,” she mused lightly, “I wonder where they would have found these.” The Midgardians had not yet connected with other cosmic life that they were aware of.

Brunnhilde was more concerned, however, with the man behind the case, who had yet to speak but stared with dark, observant eyes at the two of them. His face was craggy, obviously weathered by time, but rather than grey hair, the wiry strands atop his head were a shocking, violent orange. He moved to offer a greeting, and Brunnhilde drew her dagger, a natural extension of her arm, and struck it out between them.

“Hello,” the man’s demeanor seemed unbothered, bemused even, as he eyed the patterns on the blade of her dagger still upraised. His eyes flicked from the Valkyrior blade to Brunn and Aldrif before flicking back to the patterns on the blade. His lips curved into a small smile. “Are we to exchange pleasantries, or had you planned on threatening me all afternoon?”

The women said nothing, and Brunnhilde’s blade never lowered.

“If not pleasantries, we should at least exchange names,” the man argued without concern. His demeanor relaxed, he folded his arms behind his back as he continued eyeing them up.

The motion had Brunn drawing another blade from her belt.

“All right, all right,” he brought his hands up in defense, “I shall start introductions then.” Small, pallid hands rose to straighten the fabric of his cape thrown over his shoulders. A preparatory breath, and another for drama’s sake. “My name … is Trader.”

Aldrif blinked, waiting for more of an explanation, and furrowed her brow as silence settled once more between the three of them without one. “Trader?” she scoffed, “Surely that is not a name but your occupation.”

“It is a name,” Trader defended. His hand fell from its delicate placement at his chest to drop by his side in annoyance, “and it is the name all of my clientele use.”

“What clientele?” It was Brunnhilde’s turn for disbelief. “All of your shelves are full and seemingly untouched—it doesn’t appear that you sell anything to anybody.”

“I think it’s because of the dust,” Aldrif muttered out, more to Brunn than to the man. “It really is unprofessional and doesn’t exactly inspire confidence in a buyer if you’re not committed to keeping your shop to at least the barest minimum level of hygiene.”

Brunnhilde nodded, knives still upraised.

Ire flashed in his dark eyes at their discourteous words, and both women noted the shaking of his hands and how the lights overhead seemed to flicker in unison as he balled his hands into pasty fists. His skin flushed purple until with a long, steadying breath, he smoothed his hands out over the glass.

“I believe I heard the unmistakable clinking of gold as you two tramped through my store, did I not? You’ll not find anyone that offers a better deal for historical artifacts in this city than myself—though I do not do business with those who will not reveal to me their names first.” He gave them a pointed look.

For a moment, all three of them were merely looking at one another—Trader to Brunnhilde’s blades with some interest, Brunnhilde to Aldrif with her suspicion, and finally Aldrif to Trader with impatience. Aldrif brought a hand to lower Brunn’s weapons herself.

“If introductions must be made then let us get them over and done with,” the girl huffed, “My name is Aldr—"

“Angela,” Brunnhilde cut in, sheathing her blades at last as she spoke again. “Angela and—” she cut a glance at the bookshelf behind them once more, “and Valerie.” Trader, as the man referred to himself, opened his mouth as if to dispute the validity of the names, but Brunn interrupted before he had the chance. “They are names,” she said, “the names that all of our friends use.”

Trader’s smile was small, a flash on his face before it disappeared, but genuine. “And we are to be friends now then?”

“If you can get us as good of a deal for this gold as you claim you can,” the first cloth bag clanked noisily on the glass-top counter as Brunnhilde tossed it before him, “we’ll be the best of friends.”

The glass had jumped beneath the weight of the bag being tossed down, jostling the items inside that segment of the glass cases and earning them a scowl from the small man. For a moment the bag sat untouched between the two of them, but as his eyes darted between them and the bag, Trader silently reached forwards to pull it toward him and untie the stays.

With the man preoccupied, his silver loupe and gold pieces in hand, Aldrif took the moment to turn back to Brunnhilde. “You brought your blades?” she mouthed to her, hardly even a whisper between the two of them.  Brunn merely shrugged, and Aldrif scanned over her friend, noting now more places on her person that stashed weapons. She herself hadn’t even though to bring Xiphos.

“These are very old—and genuine,” Trader’s smile beamed at the latter bit of information. “10th century Viking and in wonderful condition for their age; the detail of the coins is still very clear. They were obviously well-kept.” He nodded his approval at the two women. “They’ll be very easy to sell.”

Aldrif leaned into the counter absentmindedly as her attention shifted and she watched him examine the coins piece by piece. “You’re not curious at all as to how we came by these?”

Trader made a noise of disinterest low in his throat, waving a hand at the idea. “Not important.”

“Oh? It doesn’t bother you that they might be stolen?” Aldrif persisted, earning a sharp elbow and pointed look from her friend.

“Most valuable artifacts are,” he shrugged, looking up at them from his work, “but it doesn’t affect the resale value, so …” he made a face as he trailed off.

Aldrif breathed a laugh at that. “Money before morals then?”

“Now you’re getting it,” Trader offered a grin for her comment, before gesturing to the long line of artifacts enclosed in glass beneath their hands, “though I much prefer to have … things. Rare, one-of-a-kind things, rather than money.”

She nodded, “I can see that.”

Conversation stilled as Trader finished his examination of the coins, noting on a separate sheet the number of coins and their grade and condition. He piled the gold pieces back into their bag and tied off their stays with a delicate bow before stowing the whole thing beneath the glass case and out of their site. The soft shuttering of a cabinet door sounded, then a lock, and finally he was back above-counter.

“Did you have a preference for payment?” He asked them, his pencil steadily scritching away at the paper he was finishing. As he reached the bottom of the receipt, he wrote out a lengthy number before turning the page around for the women to see. “How is this? Seem fair enough?”

Both Aldrif and Brunnhilde glanced down at the number, unsure how exactly the exchange rate between Midgard’s system and their own compared, but trusted the confidence he held in the offer, especially in lieu of having any other option.

Brunnhilde nodded, checking with Aldrif before clearing her throat and confirming aloud. “Seems fair.”

“Wonderful,” Trader wrote out his signature at the bottom of the transaction’s receipt in a rich flourish before looking up once more. “And … payment preference?”

Brunn looked to Aldrif for an answer, who only mirrored back her own confusion at the question with a slight shake of her head.

“In … in currency?” Aldrif tried.

Trader paused, blinking once as he read the body language exchanged between the two. The woman’s answer had him sighing out, leaning back from the counter, and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You are not familiar with the various forms of currency here.” It was a statement, not a question. “Some of my more … foreign, non-existent clientele,” his eyes cut to Brunnhilde for her earlier comment, “are similarly ignorant … though—” he brought a hand to cover over his mouth as he thought, “—I really do not have the time now to offer a thorough breakdown of the current monetary system here, with an upcoming appointment arriving soon.”

Aldrif threw a cautious, sidelong glance back to the maze of bookshelves, the way they had come into the latter half of the store and the only clear exit should a stranger or strangers ambush them while they were unprepared. Brunnhilde, with similar thoughts, moved to rest her hands at the hilt of her blades at the mention of others arriving.

“You will not need those,” Trader removed his hand to say, catching the slight movement. “The kind I deal with are interested more in trades and profit than in battle, though draw a blade on them, and I cannot say they will react as well as I did.”

“The same kind that stole those cosmic relics for you?” Aldrif leveled a wary look at him.

Trader tapped his knuckles on the counter, seemingly ignoring the harsh accusation altogether. “I really do not want to have to trade one of my own things.” His voice hitched a small whine at the thought. “I like my things.”

“And believe me, we do not want anything of them,” Brunn assured the man for his worry.

Another round of finger tapping against glass, a disgruntled purse of his lips, and Trader was sighing out again. “I suppose, in the interim, I can lend you my card to use until you’ve been properly educated in cash.” His figure bent below the display cases once more, and the sound of cabinet doors sounded once more, before a lock unhitching, and another, and then a small, metallic card was slapped on the countertop with a plastic thwack.

“Do not lend it to anyone else,” he warned, his dark copper brows lowering seriously over his eyes as he slid the thing across to them, “and do not lose it.”

Aldrif took the card from the glass-top with some curiosity, turning it over in her hands and feeling the cool smoothness of it. “And this is money?” She looked back up to him.

“It’s for charging your purchase, like a running tab,” Trader nodded, “but it is connected to my own personal banking account and money, which is why you are going to take great care to ensure it remains in your possession and out of the hands of thieves.” He patronized.

The sharp singing of metal rang from Brunnhilde’s waist as she unsheathed a blade from her belt once more to flourish through the air in show. “It will be worse for the thief that attempts to steal from us, undoubtedly.”

“Fair enough,” he snorted his amusement before thinning his expression again. “Though, while on the subject of thievery, have you secured any kind of housing accommodation or hotel for your stay here already?”

“Well, no,” Aldrif answered, “though now with the means—” she held up the card, but Trader was already raising his hand to interrupt her before she could continue further.

“I’ll not have you two running off to the first flea-bitten motel you come across to offer up my information on a golden platter to some thieving rogue. No, no,” with a shake of his head, Trader was moving again, bending over and rifling through an extraordinarily cluttered drawer for a pen and paper. “I keep an open room on-hand at a luxury hotel on the Strip,” he glanced up as he shook the ink pen a moment. “It’s convenient for lodging new, affluent clientele I want to make a point to impress, though you two are free to squat there until any clients of that nature come along.” He grinned.

Brunnhilde could not contain the roll of her eyes to the back of her head. “We are ever grateful,” her tone was dry, “for trusting us with both your money and property.”

“Oh, it’s a rented room,” Trader’s smile bared his teeth a little at her reaction. “Better for collecting collateral, too, should you fail to safeguard my card and allow my information to fall into another’s lap.”

Aldrif furrowed her brow. “Collateral?”

“The other bags of gold coin,” he gestured to their packs resting farther back behind them. “I know I heard the clinking of many, many more like the bag you sold me today. So long as my account is safe from thieves, your coin is safe from myself—unless you decide to sell off more of it, of course.” He looked between the two of them. “Fair?”

“Fair enough,” Brunnhilde gave a short nod.

“Good,” he finished writing out the address and directions, sliding the paper across the countertop. “Angela, Valerie—I do think you might recognize the place.”

[yume-x-hanabi]

Fractured Lives, ch.2

four years overdue

Title: Fractured Lives Characters: Gaius, The Chimeriad, others Pairings: Gaius/Wingul Chapters: 2/? Summary: It won’t be like last time, Elle thought, looking at the king’s friends. They were already dead in the prime dimension, so why couldn’t she give them a second chance? 

aka my “let’s save the Chimeriad” (well, at least one set of them) fix-fic, which until now I’d been unable to update because LIFE and MOTIVATION and, well, if you’ve followed me for long enough to even know this thing exists, you probably know why it took so long. Anyway, I haven’t forgotten about it, and am finally in a good place to start working on it again. idk if people are even interested anymore, i mean it’s been so long But anyway, here’s chapter two! I’d recommend viewing on external sites because Tumblr formatting is bad :p

→ AO3 (French here) → FFnet (French here)

Just like every afternoon at this time of the day, Triglav’s central station was crowded. Gaius was sitting on a bench, observing the comings-and-goings while eating a delicious chocolate croissant he had bought at one of the station’s food stalls. Now was the time school ended on the fifth day of the week—Elympions called it “sylphday,” he recalled—and the main hall was packed with students hurrying toward the platforms or taking the elevator down to the subway station. They were all impatient to go back home for a two-day break that Elympions called “week-end.” Students in Rieze Maxia also had a two-day break, which covered the first and last days of the week—in other words, the period of time when spirits’ influence changed. It was apparently Dr Howe who had proposed this tradition in his treatise on spirit artes education. According to Presa, the aim was to cut down on channeling at a time where spirits were weaker, to reduce the risk of accidents. Gaius had not immediately understood why, as he had never had any trouble channeling, whatever the day, but Wingul—who had listened to their conversation from a corner of the library—had explained that it was because he was always emitting too much mana, but that normal people, on the other hand, could feel the difference if they paid attention. At the time, he had thought that Wingul was simply making fun of him, but a recent remark from Musee seemed to indicate that he had been right after all. Unlike his two subordinates, Gaius had never really cared about the theory of spirit artes and had always trusted his instincts when he was casting spells. His artes may not have been as refined as Presa’s or precise as Wingul’s, but he had never had anything to complain about.

Gaius finished eating his snack with a smile. He often thought about his old companions. At first, remembering them had been painful. His castle seemed empty without them. His room, in particular, where he had enjoyed so many intimate moments with Wingul, now felt cold and lifeless. He had not slept well there ever since he came back from the Temporal Crossroads. But life was going on, and, with time, he was now able to think about them with a smile. He missed them all terribly, but these memories were now something he cherished.

He was pulled back from his thoughts by the ringing of his GHS. He took the device out of his pocket and opened it. The screen was showing a notification for a new message from Leia. Careful not to press on the wrong button, he opened the text message, and immediately frowned upon seeing its contents.

cya @ Luds apt asap !!!!!1!1 =O =O =O 

At first, he thought that his GHS was broken, but then he recalled all the times Alvin had complained about Leia’s “text speak.” She must have sent him a coded message. If Wingul had been there, he would have most likely enjoyed trying to decipher it. Unfortunately, he was gone, and Gaius had no idea where to start. He considered calling her to ask her what she meant, but he realized that he had never called anyone by himself—Rowen was always dialing the number for him. His frustration must have been obvious, because the young Elympion who was sitting next to him while waiting for her train asked him if everything was all right.

“It’s just that thing…” he said, pointing to his GHS helplessly. “An acquaintance of mine sent me a message, but I cannot read it.”

“Let me guess… text speak, isn’t it?” she asked with a compassionate look. “Maybe I can help,” she proposed. Gaius felt she was kind of laughing at him, but he nevertheless showed her his GHS. After all, what mattered was understanding Leia’s message. Perhaps a girl her age was better suited to deciphering it.

“Oh, that’s not hard,” she told him, “It says ‘see you at Lud’s apartment as soon as possible.’ I guess Lud is someone’s name? It looks important, given the smileys…”

Lud… That was probably Ludger. And if it was important, it was probably about fractured dimensions. He hoped that nothing bad had happened. He got up and fished out a few candies from his pocket and offered them to the girl as a thanks, then walked out the station. Ludger’s apartment was fortunately not far from there, a mere 30-minute walk. On the way, he got a text from Rowen, repeating Leia’s message in correct spelling. He must have realized that letting Leia handle GHS communication was not the best idea if he wanted the message to be understood.

When he knocked on Ludger’s door, it was Leia who opened. But instead of letting him in, she went out and closed the door behind her.

“Hi Gaius. I mean, Erston. I mean…”

“Leia,” he nodded in greeting.

She looked worried and as though she did not know what to say. She was leaning on the door, her hands behind her back.

“You and Rowen texted me about an emergency. What happened?”

“Ah, well, actually… I think I should explain before you come in and…” She gestured toward the door and shrugged, an uncertain smile on her face. She took a deep breath and started talking. “So here’s what happened: Ludger and the others went to a fractured dimension. There, everything started like usual, looking for the catalyst and so on. But then, at the end, it was the same as with Milla. I mean, the other Milla, not our Milla. Do you follow me? Elle brought someone back again, except this time, it was… well…”

She did not finish her sentence and looked at him hesitantly, as if she was not sure whether she should go on. That was enough for him to understand. His heart racing, he pushed her aside and opened the apartment’s door. When he entered the room, all conversations died down.

He had gotten used to seeing them again in fractured dimensions. However, he knew that these moments were fleeting, and that they would not survive the destruction of their world. But now they were here, in Ludger’s apartment, in the prime dimension… He did not know what to think. The situation seemed so unlikely that he was expecting the world to shatter at any moment and to be pulled back to reality. But this was reality. He was not in a fractured dimension. They were there, alive, in his world. In a world that would not disappear.

Presa was lying on Ludger’s sofa, her leg bandaged. Agria was sitting on the armrest next to her, holding to her shoulder. Jiao was sitting on the carpet below them. And Wingul… Where was Wingul? Gaius looked around the room, but his right hand was nowhere to be seen. Had he not come with them?

Before he could ponder about it, Agria broke the silence.

“No way.” She started shaking Presa’s shoulder and continued in a small voice. “Presa, I think I’m dreaming. I’m seeing His Highness right there, in front of us.”

They were all looking at him with wide eyes, as though they could not believe it was him standing here before them. In truth, he probably had the same expression on his face. To his left, in the kitchen, Rowen, Ludger, Elise and Elle were looking at them awkwardly.

He wanted to speak. Say something. Call their names. Make sure they were real. Maybe laugh and cry too, but it would be unbecoming for a king to cry in public. But no word came out.

Eventually, it was Leia broke the weird mood. “I’m hungry!” she announced loudly. Everyone turned to look at her, and she reddened a bit under their gazes, but did not sway. “I’m hungry,” she repeated, giving her friends a meaningful look.

Rowen understood and sprang to action. “Oh my, it’s almost dinner time! But there are too many of us, and I doubt poor Ludger has enough ingredients in his fridge to feed us all. Come with us, Ludger, let’s go grocery shopping. I will help you cook us a little something, like one of those soups you excel at.”

“Ah, well…”

“Are you coming with us?” Leia asked the other girls.

“Oh course!” Elise answered a little too cheerfully. “Come, Elle. Let’s go shopping!”

Rowen turned to Gaius. “Please stay here and take care of our guests while we are gone. We probably won’t be back for a while,” he added with a wink.

Elle stopped before him for a moment and looked like she wanted to tell him something, but Ludger grabbed her hand and they went outside, the others following closely. When the door closed and the room was silent again, Gaius got a chair and sat down in front of them.

“So you’re from a fractured dimension…”

“Yes,” Jiao answered, “Well, at least, that’s what we were told. I must admit I don’t understand much about that dimension stuff.”

“They explained everything, but it’s a little hard to accept,” Presa told him. “We’ve lost all our marks.”

“Everything is different,” Jiao added.

“Which is proof that we are in another dimension. But I think we will need some time to adapt.”

“I understand. I imagine it must not be easy for you to be thrust into such a situation.”

Agria, who until then had stayed silent, suddenly spoke. “Is it true? Is it really you? You’re not a dream or an illusion from the bi—I mean, from Musee?”

Gaius smiled. She looked a bit shaken, but she was without a doubt the Agria he knew.

“It is really me. From the way you are addressing me, I suppose I was also your king in your dimension?” They nodded in response. “Good. This will make things easier.”

A tense silence fell over the room once more. He had so many questions for them, about the circumstances of their arrival, about their dimension, about the reason they were still alive… And they must have had many questions for him as well. After all, being taken from one’s world must not have been a fun experience. Should he tell them that they would not risk running into this world’s versions of themselves? How would they feel if they learned that they were dead in the prime dimension? Should he wait for them to ask? He did not dare speak, for fear of losing control of his own emotions. And they probably did not know what to say either. However, there was still one question he could not help to ask.

“Is it just you three, or…” He did not dare finish his sentence.

“Wingul is with us,” Presa replied at once. “He… There was a fight before we came, and he… He’s there, in the other room. That Ludger guy lent him his room. He’s just resting.”

Without a word, Gaius got up and crossed the room in a few strides. He hesitated one second before he opened the door, then entered Ludger’s room slowly, trying to calm down his pounding heart. He immediately recognized the blond strand in the mass of black hair, sticking out from under the covers. He felt joy fill his heart at this sight. The man laying on Ludger’s bed was definitely Wingul.

He silently walked to the bed and knelt down. Wingul’s face was gaunt. He was terribly skinny and so, so pale. With a shudder, Gaius recalled the year that had followed the implantation of his booster. “What happened to you?” he whispered, brushing a strand aside from his face.

Jiao, who had followed him, was the one to answer. “He had a rough year. Erm… You know, his booster. And then… Well, anyway, he’s seen better days.”

Gaius frowned. “Does he still use it?”

“Yes, sometimes. We try to limit it, but you know him, he never listens.”

That was bad news. The Wingul of the prime dimension had died because of his booster. If this Wingul kept pushing himself too far, he might end up meeting the same fate.

No, Gaius decided. Not twice. Not here.

The possibility broke his heart. It had been difficult for him to overcome the death of his partner, even if he had been expecting it in a way. And though tragic, destroying other Winguls in a fractured dimension was one thing. But watching one die here in his world was another, and he swore to do everything he could to prevent it. Even if this was not his Wingul, he was still precious to him, and he swore to protect him, whatever may lie in their future. Him, and the others too.

He would have to find a solution, but now was not the time. This Wingul needed rest. Besides, he admitted to himself, he did not really want to have to explain how fractured dimensions worked. It would be better to let the others do it. He went back to the living room, and Jiao followed him. Presa and Agria were looking at them with a questioning look.

“What happened to your leg?” he asked Presa to change the topic.

“Oh, that?” she said, pointing to her bandages. “It’s broken. I fell…”

“Yeah, right!” Agria exclaimed. Seeing Gaius’ curious look, she went on, “She flew through the air during the last battle.”

“You too, actually,” Presa retorted, irritated.

“Yeah. But I got back up no problem, unlike you.”

“I just hit the ground at a bad angle, that’s all. It’s not serious,” she told Gaius. “Leia’s a nurse—ex-nurse, apparently, Agria interjected—and she looked at it. She and Elise healed it with spirit artes. They said that Jude Mathis will come and have a look tomorrow to check if everything healed correctly, but it should be fine. I just need to rest a bit, that’s all.”

“I see.”

Gaius sat back down on his chair and decided to start addressing the main issue.

“I imagine that you would like to know how different this world is from yours, and I would like to learn more about it myself. Let us start with the bases: I am king in both worlds, and you are my Chimeriad. Is it correct?”

They nodded.

“Good. Let’s see how similar our circumstances are. Could you summarize what you know about how I rose to the throne of Ajur and how you came to work for me?”

One after the other, they recounted events from their pasts and told him what they knew of Wingul’s. As he thought, their stories were identical to his own experiences. They must have come from a dimension that had followed the prime closely for many years. He would have to ask Ludger more details about its coordinates and the catalyst they had fought. The divergence most likely lied in recent events, after their meeting with Milla and Jude, as they seemed to know them. History must have started changing during the battle of Fezebel, he thought while looking at Jiao. The big man had been the first of the Chimeriad to sacrifice himself, and his presence here today was proof of the difference between their dimensions.

“What happened during the battle of Fezebel?”

“Well, like we just said, a tsunami totally swept over the battlefield.”

“I think he means the most recent one, Agria,” Presa corrected, “the one against Nachtigal. Is that right, Your Highness?”

“Yes. In this world, we fought against Rashugal’s army and took control of the Lance of Kresnik, which Milla Maxwell wanted to destroy. Is it the same for you?”

“It is so far, but after the fight against Maxwell, strange things started happening.”

“Was the Lance activated?”

“It pierced a hole in the sky!”

“Then Elympion soldiers invaded and attacked our troops,” Gaius concluded. It was what had happened next that he was curious about.

“I can’t believe it. It really feels like we are talking to our Gaius. All our memories are the same,” Jiao said with emotion in his voice. Gaius did not comment on that, as he knew what he would eventually have to reveal to them.

“How did you overcome their assault?”

“You know Ivar, Maxwell’s handmaid or whatever? That moron created a diversion to allow her to flee, and we took the chance to get away too. Foolish bastard. But at least he was useful.”

“Agria, show a little more respect. He gave his life to save us.”

“Ivar sacrificed himself?”

That was unexpected. So it was Ivar who had saved them that day, instead of Jiao. That was a big difference, but it seemed that history had not really changed its course immediately afterward.

“We met with Maxwell in the Xailen Woods Temple… Ah, did Elympions take control of Khan Baliq here too?” Jiao asked.

“Yes. We cooperated with Maxwell’s group to take it back, then launched an attack against the enemy HQ.”

With Ivar, without you, he did not add.

“Then we fell into a trap.”

“And Maxwell sacrificed herself as well. Was it the same for you, Your Highness?”

“It was. We landed, and then had to face Musee’s attacks. She wanted to keep the schism’s existence a secret, even if that meant killing anyone who knew about it.”

“Wait a minute,” Presa interrupted. “Musee attacked you here too? I thought…”

They all looked surprised. And yet, both stories had seemed to match.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, Rowen and Elise seemed to consider her an ally, so I thought she was on your side in this dimension.”

“She is on my side. She eventually joined us. Is it different in your dimension?”

“Yes, completely.”

They were looking at each other meaningfully, but none of them seemed ready to talk.

Musee… Her behavior was always hard to predict, which was probably why she was often a catalyst. If she had not joined him and shared her power with him in their world, what differences could this have caused? Had he not been able to go to Elympios? What about his conflict with Maxwell? Was the schism still intact? Had Milla reincarnated anyway? His head was filled with many questions, but he could not get any answer now, for the apartment door opened and interrupted their discussion.

“We’re back!”

The group entered the room carrying many grocery bags. The kitchen soon turned into a battlefield, with young troops that Rowen was directing brilliantly, delegating the various tasks needed to make tomato soup for eight people (plus a special eggplant one for Elle). Agria and Jiao joined the fight as well, but Leia forbade Presa from moving from the sofa. Elle entrusted her with the guard of Lulu to make her feel useful and prevent the cat from stealing any food. Gaius chose to peel potatoes with Ludger, jumping on the occasion to ask him about the fractured dimension. Ludger confirmed his suspicions and explained what had happened.

“Where is Musee now?” he asked when Ludger finished recounting the events that had led them here.

“She’s resting at Leia’s place,” Rowen answered him. “Since the Chimeriad are currently viewing her as an enemy, she’d better stay on the low for a while.”

The image of Musee lying low was rather amusing, but Rowen was right, she should avoid showing herself for now.

Agria cried in surprise when Ludger turned on the stove. This was obviously the first time they’d seen a household spyrix. There would be many things to explain… They had been ripped from their world and were now lost in a country they knew next to nothing about. At least, they were not alone, and Gaius was sure that Rowen and the others would do everything they could to help them get used to their new circumstances. They would also have to think about what to do once they were more familiar with the place. But those questions were a little premature. The priority right now was to help them feel at ease. Starting with a good meal.

“Enjoy your meal!”

“Mmh, that smells good.”

“Not as good as my daddy’s soup!”

“Really?”

“But it’s still good! You’re number two, Ludger!”

“Do you like it, Agria?” Leia asked, trying to include their guests in the conversation.

“Why are you talking to me? Last time I checked, we weren’t so chummy with each other.”

“You’re as charming as ever, I see.”

“Are you looking for a fight?” Agria cried, rising up on her seat.

“Agria!” Presa immediately reacted. “Table manners!”

Agria turned to her, a mean retort ready to leave her lips, but her eyes fell on Gaius and she froze. Blushing, she sat down and apologized in a small voice, which surprised Leia, who had never seen her act so meek before. Gaius felt his heart ache. How many times had he witnessed such a scene before, when his Chimeriad were still alive? He thought of the other Milla, who had been so different from Milla Maxwell. These Agria, Presa and Jiao, however, were identical to those he had known. It almost felt as if they were never gone.

“…us? Gaius!”

Hearing his name brought him back from his thoughts. Rowen was looking at him with a slightly worried look.

“I’m sorry, I was lost in thoughts. What did you say?”

“We were wondering where the Chimeriad could stay. Our dear Ludger doesn’t mind lending them his apartment tonight, but we should probably look for another long-term solution.”

“Indeed, we should not abuse his kindness.”

“Don’t worry about us,” Presa spoke, “we’ll find a place to stay on our own. We’ll leave as soon as Wingul wakes up.”

“With what gald?” Jiao asked her. “We lost all our belongings with our world. Besides, we don’t know anything about Elympios.”

“We should go back to Ajur as soon as possible…”

“No!” Gaius interrupted, startling them. He continued more calmly: “It would be better to stay in Elympios for now.”

What would the citizens of Khan Baliq say if they saw them stroll through the city as if nothing happened? He would have to think of a way to tell the news to the population. The list of things to do was getting longer and longer. This situation was sure to give him a lot of extra work.

“Don’t worry about that,” he added. “Taking care of you is my responsibility.”

“Your Highness…”

“We don’t want to impose…”

“It’s my job,” he insisted. “I will find us an apartment nearby.”

“Us?” Rowen pointed out, his eyes twinkling. The old man had tried to convince him to acquire a permanent home in Triglav for months. He personally did not see the need, as the city and surrounding areas were full of cheap motels—they were admittedly a bit seedy, but much cheaper than having to pay rent. However, he could not impose such a life to the Chimeriad, especially since they were so disoriented. Besides, this would enable him to stay with them.

“I will start looking first thing tomorrow,” he added.

“Don’t forget your business brunch,” Rowen reminded him. “You are to meet representatives from the Skylark Exchange tomorrow morning. I will handle the apartment hunt.”

“All right. I am counting on you.” To be perfectly honest, he would have preferred to let Rowen handle the meeting instead, but he could not go back on his word. These kinds of business talks could have an impact on the relationship between the two countries.

After dinner, he went to see Wingul one more time before leaving. The man was still in a deep sleep and looked like it would be a while before he woke up. “Convalescence doesn’t suit you,” he whispered, touching his face lightly with his fingertips. “Get well, Wingul. I want to talk to you.”

He bade the others goodbye and promised he would be back as soon as he was done with his engagements. When he went out of the building, he noticed that Elle was out as well. She was sitting on one of the little park’s swings, looking down.

“Is there anything wrong, Elle?”

She looked up at the sound of his voice, and her eyes teared up. She quickly wiped her eyes and looked down again, avoiding his gaze.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured faintly.

“Why are you apologizing? You did nothing wrong.”

“Ludger told me that what I did was ‘irresponsible’ and that I caused you lots of problems. He said I should have thought about what happened to Milla before I acted…” She let her tears fall freely this time. “But I thought it would be different than with Milla. I just wanted you to meet your friends again…”

So she had deliberately brought them back. It was not an accident like had been the case for the other Milla. That was something he had wondered. She must have gotten the idea when she witnessed his painful reunions with other Chimeriads from other fractured dimensions. He had always been careful not to show any emotion, but her childish eyes must have seen through the façade and noticed his distress. He crouched down before her and delicately wiped away her tears.

“Do not blame yourself, Elle,” he told her gently. “I know you only had good intentions.”

“You don’t hate me?” she sniffled.

“Of course not! On the contrary… I would like to thank you. It’s true that there will be some problems, but we can overcome them. It’s nothing compared to the chance to see them again.”

Elle’s face brightened immediately.

“Oh, good! I was afraid you’d be mad. You’re scary when you’re mad.”

He laughed softly. It was true that his strict look was intimidating to children—and even to most adults, in fact.

“I’ll never be mad at you. Not for this.”

“Pinky swear?” she asked, presenting her little finger.

“Pinky swear!” he agreed.

She giggled, happy with her new promise.

“I must go! Ludger is going to worry. Good night, mister king.”

“Good night, Elle.”

He went back to his hotel, his mind full of doubts and hope. Whatever happened, Elle’s choice would probably have unexpected consequences. But all that mattered to him now was to make sure that these Chimeriad could find a place in their new world, at his side.

As he expected, his business brunch was extremely boring. Skylarks’ salespeople were going on endlessly about their company’s successes, and all he had to do was nod and speak a few words of acknowledgement from time to time. He would have much rather gone apartment hunting with Rowen. He wondered what his councilor would find. Nothing too grand, he hoped. The old man sometimes had very fixed ideas on how a king should show his influence. He just wanted something neither too big nor too small, where he could help the Chimeriad get used to their new world. The businessmen were now congratulating themselves on their victory against a competitor. He felt his GHS vibrate in his pocket and had to resist the urge to take it out and check what it was about. Had Rowen found something? What district would they move to? He hoped it would not be too far from the station… though the port district might be good too. They would then have easy access to the ferries bound for Marksburg, from where they could quickly reach Rieze Maxia. Although, it would be best to avoid Rieze Maxia for the moment. He really needed to come up with a way to explain the Chimeriad’s return to the population.

To his relief, the meeting finally came to an end. The Skylark executives looked very satisfied and were already promising to organize another one. In his mind, he already made the decision to send Rowen to the next one in his place. When the last man left, he sat back down and took out his GHS, curious about the message he had received earlier. Surprisingly, it was not from Rowen, but from Elise. It only contained one single sentence, but that was enough to make his heart flutter.

Wingul woke up.

[malcolmacheson]

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[homogrimoire-archive]

The Remnant Branches

CH. 6 - The Woe of the Wretched

Part 1: The Iron Will Renewed

The first part of James' adventure into the world of NieR. At a mountain of junk, he befriends a young teen and helps him out. In return, he is given The Iron Will. The apt weapon is restored to its former glory with the help of a father who travels with a talking book.

AO3 Link

At first, Ironwood declined the invitation to join in on a mission to another world. As exciting as it sounded, he knew he had work to do in his own world. Besides, it was nothing truly urgent, and Qrow and Gynda were already going. They would see the mission through well enough. He knew that.

However, since the invitation, the council and his home kingdom had been frustrating him to seemingly no end. They all severely underestimated him. Though few even saw the full extent of the damage of his accident, many still viewed him as too weak to be the leader he must be. At every opportunity, someone was ready to question him.

He may have been seriously hurt, but it hadn’t stopped him for long, relatively speaking. He was back in his office taking care of paperwork as soon as the doctors let him. Hell, he had been filing through papers on his hospital bed as soon as he could think straight. Ironwood was not one to be held back so easily.

What bothered him the most was not his people doubting him, he would show them just how strong their leader was in time, but the tabloids. He was used to their slander and outlandish conspiracies, but hearing that they were saying that he was still mourning over Watts , and that that was the cause of his accident, infuriated him.

Anyone who knew either of them knew they absolutely hated each other ever since they broke up all those years ago in their academy days. Had it not been for their positions and professionalism, they would have been screaming back and forth at each other. Back then, it would have escalated into a fight, an absolute riot to any of the other students fortunate enough to see it. Who wouldn’t have wanted to see the top two students, who were also bitter exes, duke it out?

Despite all this, some people actually believed the tabloid, and it was only a matter of time before he snapped. It happened at a council meeting, away from the press, thankfully. A council member had dared to suggest he still needed time to recover, and implying that his accident and Watts’ death had taken a toll on him. On the outside, he kept his cool. On the inside, he was cussing this man out.

“You know what? You’re right. I do need some time off.” he said calmly and slowly as he got up from his seat.  “You all know the protocol for when I use my vacation days. I’ll have Winter update you on my whereabouts.” he said curtly. With long strides, each step echoing through the room, he exited through the doors, quietly closing them behind him.

“Is everything alright sir?” Winter asked, surprised he was out so soon.

“Everything is just fine .” he replied, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Ugh, arrange a flight to Vale Academy please.”

“Of course General.” she saluted and turned down a hall. Once she was gone, he brought out his scroll and messaged Ozpin.

Does your offer still stand?

Yes, but if I were you, I’d hurry. Magic is a fickle thing.

I can assure you, I’ll hurry.

-

“So why the change of heart, General Ironwood?” Ozpin asks once they settle into his office.

“Please, just call me James, or even Ironwood. We can drop the formalities here. But,” he began, first taking a swig from his flask, “I’m sure you can understand that running a kingdom involves a lot of stress.”

“Rest assured, I do James. But there’s more to it than that, isn’t there?” he questioned. It was always difficult, near impossible, to get anything past the man.

“There’s always something more, but it isn’t anything that won’t come to pass.” It was a lot to unpack, so Ironwood just decided to throw away the whole suitcase. It was just much easier that way. “So, a mission to another world?” James was thankful Oz didn’t press any further.

“Yes, a world where the sun doesn’t set, or rise, where beasts of shadows that aren't grimm exist. Overall, it’s less advanced than our world.” Oz explained.

“Overall?”

“There exists technology that rivals, and even surpasses our advancements, but, it is rare, or has decayed. I believe it is what remains of a society that mysteriously vanished somehow. I wonder if… No. That’s irrelevant. Anyways,” Oz said with a dismissive wave, “if the portal is still open, I want you to see if you can find some of it.”

“Alright. Sounds easy enough, but I’m guessing it won’t be. Hardly anything is ever easy. Should we get going?”

“Yes, but I wouldn’t advise wearing white on this trip.” Ozpin told him

“Of course. White is a hard color to keep clean.”

“That, and you would severely stand out.”

-

James looked in the mirror as he stood in his boxers. He was bothered at what he saw. He saw a man of half metal, and half flesh. But that was not what bothered him. It never did. It was still his body, no matter what it was made of. It would serve the same purpose as the flesh that came before it, and perform better in some aspects at that. To James, the robotics and flesh that was his body, were both just mediums that ultimately fulfilled the same functions, both different means to the same end. There wasn’t any reason to get worked up about that, even if others sure thought otherwise.

What bothered him was something that always bothered him. What he saw was someone on the verge of being a machine, certainly not because he was a cyborg, but because a core of humanity was so foreign to him. Atlas was a shining example of society as a well oiled machine. However, its people used love to keep themselves from fully assimilating to machinery, used love to keep themselves human. Even the scum of society loved.

But Ironwood, Ironwood did not think he loved. He had never felt it, after all, even if he would have liked to. No one is perfect, so he’ll consider it one of his flaws. A human is supposed to love, after all. But, a human is also supposed to hate. He wasn’t sure he could hate either. Could that be considered a flaw? Yes, there are many things he disliked, but hated? Like how the grimm hated humanity? No. Hate and Love are one in the same, but also opposite of each other. This, he could tell you.

He could also tell you that love can be felt for more than just another person. It could be felt for a pet, a hobby, a plant, and even a concept. But, he could not understand those kinds of love anymore than he could any other type of love. He had a keen interest in astronomy, but it did not fall into the territory of love. At least, he didn’t think so.

He could also tell you that just once in his life, he wanted to feel love, to give it and receive it, and know that he is human, not a machine fulfilling a mere purpose as needed. But, he would never tell anyone that. At the very least he believed he was human, and that belief was good enough for him. It had to be good enough, so, it was.

He finished changing into the simple clothes Ozpin left for him. Of course, they weren’t tailored, of course, but fit as well as untailored clothing could. James was sure the sturdy but breathable clothing would do just fine. It’s not like Oz would give him clothing inappropriate for the mission. Then again, they both almost settled on a vacation button up and some shorts.

With that, he went to Oz who was waiting for him at the hangar for the last of the briefing. There, he learned that his best chance to find the advanced tech was at a place known as the Junk Heap.

“And if worst comes to worst James, there’s a nice beach side town to relax at nearby. I know you will do as you will, but take it easy, for yourself.”

“Naturally.” James responded. He was happy that someone seemed to understand him, even just a little. “Well, thanks Oz.” He waved awkwardly as he stepped onto the carrier.

“Thank you too James. Stay safe out there.” Ozpin nodded. And so, the carrier took off. James had hoped he wouldn’t need a weapon. He had yet to get a replacement. But, still he felt a twinge of excitement.

-

Ironwood went from the dilapidated ruin to being launched face first into a rusty chain link fence. He was grateful he had his tetanus shot earlier that year. He bounced back and wiped himself off. Peering through the fence, he wondered how a mountainous heap of junk could be the home to incredible technological advancements, but didn’t doubt Ozpin, at least when it came to stuff like this.

“Oh, hello.” said a child, somewhere in his early to mid teens, from the other side of the gate. “Sorry about that. I was just about to open it.” he said with a light laugh. “Name’s Jakob.”

He held out his hand for the general to shake.

“Ironwood.” he replied, giving a firm shake in return. The teen’s hand was surprisingly rough.

“Well, if you’re here for iron, you’ve come to the right place. I’m afraid you won’t find much wood here, though.” Jakob joked. Ironwood did laugh a little.

“I’m alright with that. I’ve just come to learn about the machines here.”

“No offense, but not like that you are! They’re dangerous, and you need a weapon.” Jakob exclaimed. “Here,” he motioned with his arm, “follow me.” James obliged, willing to humor him. In the small home, James waited at a counter while the teen went off to get something.

“Here.” Jakob grunted as he laid a weapon on the counter. “It’s not much, but it’s better than nothing.” It was what remained of a once powerful sword. Once he picked it up, he found it to be rather light. “Bought it from some fancy lady, but never really used it as much as I thought I would.”

“Thank you. I’ll be sure to put it to good use.” Inspecting it, the weapon was colored a red hue, but not a red like copper, or rust. He couldn’t quite place his finger on it. “You seem like you know this place well, Jakob. Any tips?”

“Concussive maintenance is the best way to deal with anything, especially machines, at least that’s what the big dude that stops by once and a while says. He’s always with a floating book. It looks creepy, so I never ask him about it.” he said, visibly shaken at having to remember the creepy, floating book. Ironwood chalked it up to a kid’s imagination. Ozpin didn’t mention any floating books to him, and it was such an outlandish thing. “But if I were you, I’d stick to the first floor for now. The deeper you go, the more dangerous the machines get.”

“And more complex, I assume.”

“The way they act and the power they hold, I think they would be. Here, take this map. It should help you around.”

“Thanks.” James said, making his way to the door out.

“Oh, wait!” he said, grabbing James’ attention. “While you’re down there, do you think you could gather these things for me? It'd be a HUGE help.” He held out a list, with a small picture of the item next to its name.

“Sure. I don’t see why not.”

“Thanks mister. Good luck!” he waved as Ironwood left the small home.

Upon entering the heap, he saw that it was held up by rusted iron. However, it soon gave way to yellowed artificial lighting and mass-produced, but sturdy tiling. There, he encountered his first machine.

It was rather large and bulky, but obviously old. Its industrial yellow paint was especially worn down at its edges. Despite its apparent age, it seemed to be running smoothly. A rotating sensor on top of it seemed to have sensed him up, and the red alarms on it came to life as it charged towards him.

And despite its rather large size, it didn’t seem dangerous, until the fangs of electricity cackled out in front of it. Quickly, James dodged it and maneuvered behind it, slashing at its backside. However, that only dented it, chipping off the paint where he hit, revealing the metallic texture beneath. It turned surprisingly quick, and charged its taser, aiming at him with accuracy that surprised James. The machine seemed so rudimentary, like it should be inaccurate and inefficient, and yet, it wasn’t.

It charged towards him again, and this time, James only barely managed to dodge. He could feel the buzz static of the electricity in the surrounding air, and knew this thing could do some serious damage, especially to him.

Now knowing its reaction time, he quickly moved in and began to rapidly slash at it. He knew it was done for when he heard a whirring sound, and the machine began to act erratically. In an explosion of light, it sent scrap, oil, and other machine parts flying. James had shielded himself, only getting some oil on him.

He began to look at the scattered remains of the machine. If he were being honest with himself, he couldn’t get a grasp on what components went where, or how they worked. There was also no telling if something got destroyed in the small explosion.

However, he did find some of the things Jakob was looking for, and he also understood how the machines acted a little better. That would be useful for when he had to fight them again. And fight them again he did. He ran into about a dozen more by the time he reached the locked elevator.

The next step would be to go deeper, and hopefully find some blueprints or the like somewhere. Based on some of the piping and the appearance of what he could see of the building, it appeared to be a factory. If that were so, he figured that there must be a computer somewhere with information on how the machines were being built. In individual aspects, these automatons were inferior to Atlesian robots, but taken as a whole, these automatons were superior. Sometimes, the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. This was such an instance, and James was determined to find out why.

As he walked back, he mentally took notes of his surroundings. Old, but still running somehow. He wondered just how long it had been running without human supervision, cause Jakob certainly wasn’t running the place.

Whatever it was, it was a miracle, considering none of the fresh machines that popped out of those tubes were defective, which meant the assembly process made no mistakes, or had a very good quality control system. How new materials were obtained were a complete mystery to him.

James also began to wonder more about Jakob. The kid was all alone here in this dangerous world. He could sympathize with that. Parentlessness was a life all too common in Remnant. It was one of many things he could hope to change

When he finally returned to the small home, he knocked on the door, but no one answered. So, he let himself in, muttering a hello as he entered. But, no one replied. He looked around, and saw nothing so he went past the counter to look around some more. He stumbled upon a room with a bed in it.

There was Jakob, lying down with another young boy beside him, probably a younger brother, maybe around seven or nine. He wondered why they were asleep when the sun was still up, but remembered that there was no day/night cycle in this world. The Kingdom of Day, a kingdom cast into eternal light, and The Kingdom of Night, a kingdom bathed in immortal darkness, according to Ozpin.

Tired as well, he quietly set the scrap down and grabbed a nearby chair. He felt bad for intruding, but he was too tired, and didn't really have another place to find some sleep. He hoped they wouldn’t mind. The chair was made of scrap, like most other things in the home, but at least the thing had a thin cushion on it. He slumped down, and got as comfortable as he could.

With half a metal body, comfort was less of an issue for him, even if it did have the latest sensory system. What mattered was that there was no menial paperwork, no sudden calls, and the calming hum of the Scrap Heap as it toiled at making machines. It was funny how he got some of the best sleep he had in a good while there in a cramped room on a chair made of scrap, in a world where the sun never set, and never rose.

-

Ironwood awoke to someone pounding on the door.

“See, I told you they would be asleep.” scolded a male voice. He sounded like he belonged at some stuffy party in high class Atlas, not here, surrounded by scrap and grime.

“Well forgive me for thinking otherwise, Weiss.” said another male voice. His voice was gruff, obviously belonging to an older man.

“How many times do I have to tell you? It is GRIMOIRE Weiss! Grimoire! Weiss! My name is to not be shortened.” corrected the voice. Ironwood could understand the sentiment. Weiss huh? Like Winter’s sister. Gently, he shook Jakob awake. He murmured as he rose up.

“I think you got some customers.” Jakob quickly shot up, and his little brother quickly followed in suit. Ironwood also made his way over, but was in no rush. He found it odd that he heard only one of the strangers enter.

He supposed it would be cramped with two of them in there, guessed the other must have been waiting outside, and thought nothing more of it. That was, until he saw the floating book. He could see firsthand that it did in fact look creepy. Its face only stared back, conveying no emotion but bored judgement. Aside from its alien-looking face, he found the book beautiful with its ornate metalwork and dark leather.

“How are you floating?” James asked in awe.

“Magic, of course!” he answered, looking James up and down, making him feel as if he offended the book.

“Yes, or course. How else would a book float.” he said sheepishly. Normally, he would stand his ground and remain firm. However, dealing with a floating book was very different than dealing with some pompous politician. And it seemed as if he struck a chord with the book, as it moved wildly and angrily as it yelled at him.

“BOOK!? I am no mere book you foolish mortal. I, the great Grimoire Weiss! I am an arcane text of incomparable magic! I—”

“Calm down Weiss,” said the man as he pulled Weiss back, “He meant no harm by it.” He had longish white hair that parted down the middle. What Ironwood found interesting about the man was that he wore no shirt. The only things protecting his torso were the leather straps that connected to a shoulder piece and some leather covering the lower half of his abdomen. His uncovered shoulder displayed a faded tattoo. Its design didn’t seem to be anything in particular.

“Hmph.” he said as he turned his back to them, as if annoyed by them.

“Wellll,” Jakob interjected, “what brings you here today anyways Nier?” Nier put the hulking weapon he was carrying onto the counter. A nice looking broadsword with a lion motif and a chain wrapped around an area above the handle and below the blade. Although, its edge seemed like it could use a sharpening, and it also needed a polish.

“Ahh, The Beastlord. I’m guessing you’re looking to upgrade it?”

“Yup.”

“Let me see here...” Jakob drawled out as he inspected it. “Okay, I’ll need three pieces of gold ore, a thing of amber, and two simple machines. That should bring out its full potential.” Ironwood wondered if the teen would really be able to improve upon the weapon. But, he knew the man wouldn’t have came if he didn’t trust the kid

“And let me guess, I’ve got to go deep down to get the simple machines huh?” Nier asked, to which Jakob replied by nodding his head. With a sigh, Nier made his way out.

-

After being gifted a memory alloy by Nier to upgrade the broken weapon, James could say he was impressed by the teen’s skill. If he were in Atlas, he would be a prodigy in making weaponry. Unlike when he first brought out the weapon, he was having some difficulty carrying it. He had to drag it around. From over the counter, James picked it up with his robotic hand. The prosthetic was able to pick it up easily, but it took more strength than anticipated.

-

This is the largest sword in the world, too heavy for any mere mortal to lift. It is believed that till now, no warrior has been able to wield it.

It was ordered forged by the warlord Vahk the Pitiless. Made from the melted armor of his vanquished enemies, the sword announced Vahk's might and grandeur to the world.

The sword grew heavier and heavier each time it took a life, and it gradually became more and more difficult to wield. At last, even its mighty owner could no longer swing it.

One morning, Vahk the Pitiless was found dead. Beside him, dripping with flesh and dyed scarlet with blood, lay the sword. Who had managed to raise the mighty weapon against him?

And so, The Iron Will is reborn! His will is returned! His strength has returned!

And now, he will seek eternal strife and endless blood once more!

He will seek the empirical in the theoretical, and the dream within reality once more!

If only this interloper knew what there is to know.

[midnightghostwriter]

ease

↬ summary: "take me back to the basics and the simple life.” / you didn’t really think this whole roommate thing through, and jin is so much more than you bargained for.

↬ genre: slice of life. fluff. slowburn. roommate au.

↬ pairing: slowburn jin x reader

↬ word count: 1.7k

a/n: um hi. it’s me. i know i died for a while back there, but things have been rough and i’ve had no inspiration for over a year. but i found this while cleaning out my drive and was reminded how much i love it. so i thought i might share with all of you, and hopefully it might give me the boost i need to write again.

please keep in mind i wrote this.... almost three years ago? probably longer. it’s been a while and while i did try to revise it a bit, it may not be perfect. but i still hope you enjoy it as much as i did when i wrote it.

The apartment was small. That was the first thing you noticed. Well, perhaps small wasn’t the word for it. Cozy might be more apt to describe the compact coalition of rooms you would now be calling home. Even so, it had all the necessities; a bathroom, two bedrooms, just enough kitchen space, a lounge to host get-togethers. And as someone just starting out on your own, it was perfect. Except, of course, for the issue of rent.

With your low-paying barista job, there was basically no way you could have hoped to afford even this homely space. So when no other friends could be coerced into joining your venture, your search for a roommate began. You faced down your fair share of oddballs and outright creeps to find someone you believed would be perfect, and it seemed to have at last paid off.

You hadn’t actually met your co-conspirator yet, but through the emails exchanged and Talk messages sent, Kim Seokjin seemed like the one you were looking for. Polite but friendly and supposedly handy with the stove, Jin would be the perfect balance to your own outgoing persona and need to keep things at least a little bit tidy. At least that was what you hoped.

But all of that would change today, as you made your way up the six flights of stairs (just enough of them to be eternally tiring or whip you into shape) to apartment 302. You stuck your key in the lock, fingers shaking with nervous excitement. You wiggled the doorknob and shouldered the door open to bypass the sticky lock (you’d have to ask the landlady to fix that), taking your first steps into your new home.

Setting your stuff down by the door, you groped along the wall for the light switch. The limited fluorescence bloomed, weakly illuminating the still barren carpet landscape. Despite the lack of… anything, and the horrendous lighting, you couldn’t help the grin that split your features as you took in what would become your little kingdom.

“Aish, bit small, isn’t it?” Your friend Amber asked as she followed you in, an unwilling participant in your transition to independence. She set down the box she was carrying as you shook your head.

“It’s perfect,” you insisted. She shrugged.

“As long as you’re happy, I guess.” You rolled your eyes and smacked her arm playfully. “So where are we putting all your junk anyway?” Hesitance stopped your excitement in its tracks. You and Jin hadn’t actually talked about the division of space yet, and you were uncertain about making any kind of move before your new roommate showed up.

“We hadn’t decided yet,” you admitted and it was Amber’s turn to roll her eyes at your poor planning.

“Let’s go check out the bedrooms then.” There was no room for discussion in her voice, leaving you with the singular option of following her down the short hall with one door on the left and two on the right, one of which presumably was the bathroom. You picked one at random and pushed it open.

Behind the door was a decent-sized room with a window opposite your entrance and an average-sized closet in the wall to your right. Wandering in, you stepped up to the window and were greeted by a view of the alley between your building and the next.

“Nice,” Amber commented wryly before leading the way out of the room.

The other room was much like its predecessor in terms of size, but sported two windows instead of just the one. The first, directly opposite like the other room, had a similar view of the alley, though without the voyeuristic ability to look at your neighbor's’ windows. The other was of the quiet street below, still dotted with colorful fall leaves, the tree outside the building reaching up to brush the area just under the sill.

“Much better,” Amber told you approvingly but you just shrugged, still not sure about claiming the space for your own so soon.

“Ah, are you taking this one, then?” Startled, you whirled around to find a boy standing in the doorway, a bag in his hand and another over his shoulder. He looked to be maybe a year or two older than you at most, and was wearing a polite smile. And holy shit was he beautiful. Amber glanced at you, eyebrows raised in question.

“Uh um, what, sorry?” You squeaked out, not sure if you should be inviting him in or searching for a weapon to use against the intruder. He chuckled and gestured at the room.

“I was wondering if you’ve already picked this room, because I’ll go put my stuff across the hall if you did.” It dawned on you then just who this unfairly good-looking specimen might be and you immediately felt embarrassed at your reaction to his appearance.

“Wait, are you Jin?” His smile brightened and he nodded.

“Yeah I am. Sorry was that not clear? I didn’t mean to startle you but the door was open so...” You shook your head quickly.

“N-no, don’t worry about it! And no, I haven’t yet. I was going to ask you first actually.” He seemed surprised by this last part.

“Really? Well I don’t mind. You found this place after all, it’s only right you get to pick your room first.” You couldn’t tell if he was just being nice or not, but with the shining smile on his face as encouragement, you found yourself nodding.

“Well then if it’s alright with you, I’ll take this one,” you said quietly.

“Sounds good. I’ve still got some stuff so I’ll be back in a bit.” And then he was going back down the hall, out the door and down the six flights of stairs. You released the tension you hadn’t realized was keeping your body ramrod straight when he was gone, trying to calm your racing heart.

“That’s your roommate?” Amber asked incredulously and you could only nod. You still didn’t quite believe it yourself. The gorgeous guy who’d just left you was the Jin you’d been talking to? The one who had sheepishly admitted his Mario obsession and proudly declared his cooking skills to you? Was this some kind of joke? You were roused from your trance by Amber shoving your arm. “Well lucky you, hah? I can’t believe you guys never exchanged photos but whatever. Come on, let’s get the rest of your stuff.”

It took a surprisingly short time for you to bring all your things into the apartment, helped along by the small squadron of six boys who had apparently accompanied Jin. They introduced themselves easily before whisking his and your items away up the stairs. Though you were grateful for the help, you were more surprised by how willingly they assisted a veritable stranger.

When all the boxes had been sorted into the appropriate rooms, the nine of you collapsed onto the floor of what would eventually become your lounge. Your apologies about the lack of furniture were waved away and dismissed, Jin’s friends more than happy to pick spots on the floor instead.

“Are you even going to be able afford furniture any time soon?” The youngest, a smiley and dorky boy named Jungkook, asked. The question earned him several jabs in the ribs and a scolding from Jin. You frowned, not having thought that through.

“I dunno, maybe,” you answered after a moment.

“Don’t worry (y/n) ah, it’ll start feeling like home in no time, especially with Jin hyung around! It’ll be like you never moved away from your mom!” There was a teasing edge to the words of the grinning boy seated next to Jungkook. He also earned himself a round of rebuke and roughhousing for this, and you laughed.

“Be respectful of your hyung, Jiminie pabo,” his taller companion, a restless boy named Taehyung, scolded, but he was hiding his own smile.

“Hyung, can we order some food? I’m hungry,” Jungkook interjected. The other boys hooted and hollered their support of this plan and Jin looked at you.

“What do you think? First meal in the apartment?” You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face at the thought and nodded.

“Sounds great,” you acquiesced and the boys cheered. Amber chuckled from beside you.

“I’ll go get us something then,” she volunteered. One of the older boys, the constantly moving Hoseok (or Hobi as he had insisted you call him), jumped up.

“I’ll go too!” You immediately reached for your purse, trying to dig out your wallet but Jin stopped you with a gentle hand on your wrist.

“You don’t have to do that,” he told you and you stared at him.

“But-” The tallest of the boys, Namjoon, shook his head.

“We got it, (y/n). Consider it a housewarming present,” he assured you. When there didn’t seem to be any way out of it, you agreed, watching Amber and Hobi disappear out the door, chatting animatedly.

“What are we going to do while we wait for them?” Taehyung asked and you shrugged.

“All my stuff is still in boxes and we don’t really have a tv for games or anything, sorry.” After a moment you remembered the bag of odds and ends you’d tossed in your room. “But I have some cards I can pull out. Is that okay with everyone?” Another chorus of cheering was your answer, and you pushed yourself off the floor and headed towards your room to find the cards.

You were digging through the bag you thought the decks to be in when you heard someone clear their throat behind you. A glance over your shoulder revealed Jin standing in the doorway. Straightening you gestured him inside and he wove carefully around the boxes and bags to your side.

“What’s up?” He was silent for a moment, and it was clear he was choosing his words carefully.

“I’m sorry about them,” he started and you gave him a questioning glance as you went back to your search. “I know the boys can be a bit crazy, and I didn’t warn you they were coming to help or anything…” You shook your head quickly, standing up with your prize in your hand and a smile on your face.

“Don’t be sorry! I needed the help anyway, and it was nice to meet your friends. Better now than later when they come barrelling through the door, too,” you assured with a chuckle. Jin smiled, relieved and amused, before taking the cards from you.

“They can be your friends too, if you let them,” he said quietly as the pair of you wandered back out to the living room. Your smile widened.

“I’d like that.”

[brie-n-kat-write]

Freedom Part 2 (Greaser!Peter Parker x Reader AU)

Request: hi doll i was wondering if i could request a kinda greaser!peter parker au? like he saves you from your dick boyfriend and idk fluffy shit lmao sorry if this prompt sucks

Read part 1 here

A/N: Sorry this took so long, I had trouble getting inspired. But, here it is, I hope it’s not too terrible!

- Written by Kat - 

When Peter finally stopped, pulling the motorcycle into a parking structure attached to a small apartment building, you were half asleep. Your arms were wound tightly around his waist, your body pressed against his back, loving the warmth that radiated from him. Coming to a space next to the stairwell door, Peter stopped the bike, kicking out the stand, before carefully pulling away from you and climbing off the bike. You groaned at the absence of warmth, the cold night air washing over you. You pulled Peter’s jacket tighter around you, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. You looked around curiously; you had never been in this part of the city. Your father had always told you nothing came from this side of town but trouble.

“Where are we?” you asked, stretching your arms above your head, a yawn escaping you. Peter chuckled, shoving his keys in his pocket and turning to face you.

“We,” he began, a small smile quirked his lips, bringing his arms around your waist to gently lift you off of the bike, “are home.” Setting you on your feet, he immediately took his arms from around you, but took your hand instead, pulling you to the apartment entrance. From what you had heard you father say about the buildings in this area, you expected the interior of the complex to be dark and hostile. Instead, you were met with a pleasant warmth and the smell of home cooked food. Despite the building being shared by multiple tenants, the atmosphere was more like one large home - welcoming and safe.

You followed behind Peter as he lead you up the stairs and through the building. In your drowsy mind, you thought about how nice it would be to live here, with all of these people, unlike how you lived now, alone, in a big house on the upper East Side. You also thought about how nice it was to hold Peter’s hand, though it was just to lead you through the halls, you thought about how warm his hand was around yours and how gently he led you, like you were delicate. It was so different than how Jake would hold your hand - not at all controlling or oppressive. You were jostled from your thoughts when Peter came to a stop outside one of the apartments. The number of the door read “APT. 216.” A screw at the top of the ‘2’ had come off, so the number tilted slightly to the right.

Peter bent down and picked up what looked like a rock from beside the “Welcome” mat. You watched as he flipped it over, taking a key out of the back. You felt a laugh bubble in your throat at the irony of it. Bringing a hand up to hide you smile, you raised an eyebrow at Peter.

“You use a fake rock… in an apartment building?” Peter glanced at you, a light blush on his cheeks, and chuckled sheepishly.

“I know it’s silly, it was my aunt’s idea.” Peter responded, inserting the key and unlocking the door before returning it to its rock. Before he opened the door, he paused and looked at you for a moment. “ Speaking of, she is probably asleep, so we should try and keep quiet.” You nodded in understanding, miming zipping your lips and throwing away the key. Peter smiled again and pushed open the door, pulling you in before silently closing the door. Stepping into the apartment, you were overwhelmed by the smell of pastries and cookies, you couldn’t explain it but it was the type of smell you wanted to wrap yourself up in and never leave. You looked around, noting all the pictures on the walls of Peter and - who you assumed was - his aunt.

Locking the door, Peter turned and took your hand again, quietly making his way to the kitchen. He had told Aunt May he would be home by 10. Glancing at the clock it read 12:45 AM. He was so dead. He was thankful she was already asleep, he didn’t know how she would react to him bringing a girl home in the middle of the night, but he could assume it wouldn’t be good. Making his way through the kitchen in the dark, he made his way to the fridge, planning on getting some ice for his hands, and (Y/N)’s face. His plan was to have (Y/N) hide in his room, then in the morning he would sneak her out, then wear gloves for the next couple days to hide the bruises on them. Aunt May hated it when he got into fights.

Reaching the fridge, Peter grasped for the freezer handle, then suddenly the room was flooded in light. Hissing slightly at the sudden brightness, he turned to the entry way and saw who had turned them on. Standing in the doorway was a very tired looking Aunt May. She stood in her robe, with her arms crossed over her chest, her fingers drumming on her bicep, the unspoken irritation evident. From where she stood, Aunt May couldn’t see you hidden slightly behind Peter and the fridge.

“Nice of you to join me, Peter.” she said, the anger laced in her words as clear as day. Peter swallowed thickly, feeling (Y/N) squeeze his hand. Aunt May’s slipper clad foot began to tap inpatiently on the floor as she waited for Peter to speak.. She narrowed her eyes, as if daring him to make an excuse. Pulling himself together, Peter tried to give an innocent smile. One wrong word and he was done for.

“Hi, Aunt May! I was just uh…” he trailed off dumbly, searching for a way out of this. Her fingers stopped drumming on her arm and her foot fell still as Aunt May let out an exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose and rolling her neck from side to side, trying in vein to ease the tension in her shoulders. She ran a hand over her face, seeming too tired to fight with Peter right now. The smile on Peter’s face fell away, noticing the bags the hung under her bloodshot eyes, he realized just how tired she must be. She had stayed up waiting for him, even though she had work the next day.

“I’m sorry Aunt May. I just… I got caught up in something…” he reached up to rub the back of his neck feeling extremely guilty. As he brought his hand up, Aunt May caught sight of the fresh cuts and bruises on them. Uh oh… wrong move.

“What did I tell you about fighting, young man?!” she half-heartedly scolded him. Peter’s eyes widened, realizing his mistake and quickly burying his hand in his pocket. He opened his mouth to try and explain, but Aunt May quickly cut him off, raising her hand. “Save it! I tell you time and time again, you need to stay away from those boys! Something bad could happen! I don’t need to lose you too!” She walked forward, continuing her rant. “One day someone is going to get seriously-” When her eyes fell on (Y/N), she noticed her bruised face and busted lip; the anger drained out of her, replaced with concern. “Hurt…” she glanced at Peter, who was looking down at his shoes, then back to you. She took in the blood and dirt maring your pink dress and the large leather jacket that covered your arms before finally landing on yours and Peter’s intertwined fingers. She couldn’t help but smile slightly.

“Aunt May this is (Y/N).” Peter introduced you, keeping his head bowed. Fear boiled in the pit of your stomach. You were scared of what she would do. You had no right to be here in her home, especially at this time of night. Glancing at Peter, you took a step forward, feeling that it was unfair for Peter to take the blame for a fight that was your fault.

“I’m sorry Ms. Parker, I was in trouble, and Peter-he helped me.” Tears pricked at your eyes and your voice shook slightly as you spoke ”I-I didn’t mean to involve him, it’s just my boyfriend, he-he was-” Aunt May shook her head, smiling gently and quietly shushing you.

“You don’t need to explain, dear.” The kind smile she offered you chased away your fear. She stepped forward and reached a hand out, cupping the side of your face, her eyes searching over the damage. “The important thing is that you’re both okay.” Her gentle touch soothed your rattled nerves. Removing her hand, she opened the freezer and took out two ice packs, tossing one to Peter, who caught it with one hand, and placing the other in your hand. She smiled once again and chuckled lightly. “I’m sorry you had to see me like this.” She gestured to her robe and slippers, “I would have worn something more presentable if someone would have told me we were having company.” She shot a look at Peter, who smiled sheepishly.

“It wasn’t exactly planned Aunt May.” Peter said. She only rolled her eyes, taking a step back she looked over the two of you again.

“Well, there is no helping it now.” She sighed before offering you another kind smile. “Is there anyone I need to call dear? Your parents? To let them know you're okay?” She asked. You blushed, pressing the ice pack to your swollen lip.

“My parents are out of town, there is no one at home.” You answered, praying she wouldn’t make you go home to that place, absent of warmth. The idea of being alone right now rattled you.

“Well, you are welcome to stay here as long as you like,” Aunt May offered, leaning back against the fridge. “I don’t like the idea of you alone after something like this.”

“Me neither…” you heard Peter mumble under his breath, giving your hand another squeeze. Relief washed over you, the fear of being alone was enough to make you dizzy. With everything that happened, you were sure Jake would be coming after you, and he knew where you lived.

“Thank you ma'am, I promise I won’t be any trouble.” Aunt May waved away your concerns, yawning.

“Don’t worry about it dear, if you need anything just ask Peter. I’m going to bed, I have an early shift in the morning.” She grumbled, shuffling over and giving Peter a kiss on the cheek. “Goodnight Peter, goodnight (Y/N).” She mumbled, walking out of the kitchen. Suddenly, you felt beyond tired, like you could sleep for days. Glancing at Peter, you caught his eye, causing the both of you to smile. He gently rubbed his thumb over your knuckles, a small blush on his cheeks.

“Welcome home.”

Part 3: Here

[shadows-of-almsivi]

What is the general consensus towards public displays of affection in Morrowind? And outside of romantic and non-sexual relationships, how much people touch each other while talking or spending time together. Is non-verbal intimacy encouraged or discouraged aside from romantic and sexual relationships?

I really shouldn’t encourage you, you know. All I can tell you is surely… But never mind. You’ve asked, and to be quite honest, I’m rather bored. Come, sit down. Let’s see if this wine is good enough to inspire me into rambling for you. I’ll answer briefly, first, quickly before I forget, and grant you details after until I’ve forgotten what I was meant to be telling you and you wish you’d never asked me, yes?

So… Public displays of affection, you said. Well, it depends mostly on how public it is, how influential you are, who they are, and just what it is you’re doing to them. By and large, however, we tend to be rather shocked by how open and blatant men are about such things, so I suppose by comparison the short answer must be “generally discouraged”.

Casual touch… Quite common, almost necessary. Relatively constant, really, though it varies from one mer to the next. I cannot have a pleasant conversation without it, else I feel almost personally slighted, though men in particular are so starved for touch they often either turn defensive or confusedly aroused.

And… What was the last–? Oh, yes. Non-verbal intimacy; Lords, quite definitively encouraged. Especially amongst House mer; it’s the form of intimacy hardest to observe, and therefore the hardest to leverage for blackmailing purposes. You know, perhaps it would be easiest for you to conceptualise Dunmeri culture when you remember how paranoid House noblemer are.

Are my answers to your satisfaction? Good. Now, if you’ll permit me, I’ll gladly talk your ears off for a moment or two. I see you’re still confused, and there is much context I can attempt to share with you.

Dunmer occupy a strange contradiction in the stereotypes held by outlanders (I should know; after all, I did exploit such odd impressions for all they were worth during my time in Cyrodiil). To many men, we are at once a grim, joyless people, devoid of love or warmth, and also a race of lascivious, lawless creatures obsessed with the indulgence of primal urges. I cannot account for either impression, although men are shockingly impetuous with their affections, as often careless with their embraces as they are shame-filled and furtive with their lust. I suppose for them, so in love with their own repressions yet so short-lived and urgent in their desires, we must seem alien, almost absurd, as I will forever find them absurd for their maddeningly-meandering courtships and brazenly public kissing. I would fancy we are slandered often simply out of jealousy of our culture, for Imperials surely must bind down their loins with steel and whalebone for all their stiff propriety. It must be so frustrating, this odd and masochistic cultural demand to appear bloodless and without ardour.

(As for the local Nords, I am yet to be convinced that their kind feels a lust for anything that is not battle, or mead, or self-aggrandising recounts of either of the two.)

The oddness of the ways of men now made clear, it goes without saying that Morrowind is a very different place, and a much more sensible one to minds like mine. The pleasure of one’s own sexuality is nothing to flee from nor dress up in elaborate pantomime in its seeking; if a mer desires another, and if it is socially permissible or professionally expedient for them to do so, there seems little reason not to get to the point as soon as possible. Within my youth, it was hardly uncommon to pass the Hlaalu administration compounds and overhear the satisfied moaning of political and economic agreements being settled. Even within the Temple, it was not completely unusual for at least one or two determined mer to gain a rank through such means. Rarely cause for gossip, unless some rivalry or family matter arose to add a touch of drama to the proceedings; then, of course, it would be the talk of the cornerclubs by nightfall.

But aside from this… I suppose, by the standards of men, Dunmer society must appear quite cold. We do not smile with the teeth, save to threaten; mostly, our smiles do not leave the eyes. A mother does not often hold her child outside the home, unless the child is very young or injured. Family may kiss each other’s cheeks at the door, though it is uncommon in houses without children; mostly this is done in the front hall. You will never see a pair of lovers greet each other with a kiss on any public street, nor see any married couple do the same no matter the length of their separation. The only exception to this I have ever known was a Redoran mer in Ald’Ruhn, who kissed her wife in the market plaza as she lay dying, having fallen beneath the wheel of a guar-cart; onlookers surrounding the couple turned their backs politely in silent understanding, shielding the mer’s imminent grief from passing eyes with their own bodies. Such compassion, extraordinarily beautiful; it draws my throat tight in memory of it even now.

I know, I know, I speak overmuch of kissing in particular. For all the years I have spent amongst men, I will never completely get over such nonsensical inversion as theirs, and I’ve never been permitted to vent my spleen on the subject. How to explain… We are a passionate yet stoic people, quite private in our emotions. We tend to jealously guard what is dearest to us. Sexual intimacy is notably casual for the most part, as I have told you. There are few taboos around the healthy expression of sexual urges, beyond the mostly-reasonable ones. But emotional intimacy… Emotional intimacy is rare and essential, and easily turned against you; it must be hidden as much as possible from the outside world, as one would hide a diamond from the eyes of a thief. This bond with another, kissing being perhaps the highest form of its expression, is not something that is fit for public viewing.  Does that make sense to you?

The mouth holds great symbolic importance to us; it is the vessel of poetry, of prayer, of power. We consume sustenance and recite our devotion, we speak our authority and confess our sins. To yield something so precious to another is an action of intense bonding and trust, and so must be done only away from prying eyes. To kiss your spouse in your own home is a reaffirmation of your love for them; to do so in public is to cheapen both them and yourself, to make a vulgar spectacle of your intimacy. Passersby will feel shame on your behalf, since you clearly possess none of your own. Outlanders, ignorant of our reverence for such an action, tend to make quite a nuisance of themselves in this way; in my youth, we often assumed them to be prideless deviants, debased at best, though there was an undercurrent of pity to our scorn: how lonely and desperate these short-lived creatures must be, that they would spill their deepest affections so easily and with anyone they sought to bed, and perhaps the local liquors simply went to their heads too quickly. Later, I would come to understand how inverted much of the world tends to be from what is familiar and sensible to me; I had to train myself to sell lies of passion with kisses that filled me with nauseous shame, and longed for the days in which I might have been naive enough to feel pity for these creatures…

Enough, enough of that. Let’s not spoil this pleasant warmth the wine has lent me. Let me say that I came to understand how men view kissing as seduction rather than affirmation, learned to use it thus, and leave it at that?

There are subtler gestures to share your affections, more acceptable to the possibility of public view. It has been said that Dunmeris is a language only half-spoken with words, the rest with the hands. This is rather apt, really, whether one means the rapid flurry of conversational gesticulations or the many instances of physical contact, both brief and lingering. (Our informal gestures are, perhaps, very similar to the signal-languages used amongst slaves before the Abolition, though few Dunmer of my age will admit to such an influence. It has also been theorised that the Dunmeri frequency of touch in casual conversation was once meant to conceal weapons searches, which… Well, it doesn’t hurt, certainly.)  I have always spoken much with my hands, though it is often unrecognised as the punctuation it truly is. I have seen Dunmer, attempting to speak in a friendly manner, have their touches misconstrued and be accused of pick-pocketing, which always breaks my heart.

Speech is vital, but is often not as important as what is not said. Touch without agenda is meant for closeness, especially amongst family, or those dear enough to be. You craft your love for them with your hands. Small variations of almost-identical actions carry whole worlds of altered meaning, which must be read in any number of other details unique to the mer in question; in this way, a particular touch between mer may mean completely different things, and so their right to the privacy of their emotions is maintained in polite obfuscation. The caressing of forearms, for example, serves both as apology or forgiveness for harsh words and as a gesture of friendship, a tighter clasping can mean either a stiffer formality or a great depth of emotion depending on how long it is held, and so on. Close companions and combat-bonded soldiers were often seen leaning upon one another in barrack common rooms and cornerclubs, hands resting affectionately on forearms and shoulders. You’d often see siblings or lovers at tables or in the market, their fingers loosely woven together at the tips. Templemer of particular closeness, such as my contemporaries and I were, spread our fondness for each other along necks and spines, or worked it into each other’s tired muscles after exhaustive ritual practice.

This is not to say that all touch was beyond judgement. Given enough privacy and drink, my friends and I would even– Well, I have always been more tactile than perhaps is wise, skating often more closely to the edges of honest propriety than one might expect of a thirdborn or a priest… I admit, I was not always above the gentle bending of such limitations, using my House and my station as my shield and cats-paw respectively. I am mortal after all, sera, and we were all young things once…

(If the private indiscretions of priests surprise you, I could tell you all manner of scandals surrounding the Imperial cults’ clergies. You’d be surprised how many of Zenithar’s shepherds harbor a taste for dice, and I recall a certain old priest of Arkay who was well-known around the taverns for his specialised methods of consoling grieving widows. Especially the prettier ones, preferably half his age.)

Whenever I think of the propriety of touch and the subtleties of non-verbal intimacy, I cannot help but think of my mother and father. I think of how their fingers would be always brushing the other’s whenever they walked together by the Odai of the evening. I think of how Mother’s hand would rest lightly at the hollow of Father’s spine whenever my siblings and I rushed past, and how I did not realise for years that Father’s back pained him. I think of the way Mother swept Father’s long and greying strip-mane into its loose braid each morning, as wordless and tender with familiarity as the looks they gave each other across the dinner table.

I remember how Mother’s strong fingers held my jaw as she proudly admired each new line inked into my face. I remember how Father’s broad hands held me close while I cried, gently stroking my hair. I remember every warm embrace and every kissed forehead, every favorite book tucked secretly into my travelling satchel with notes between the pages, every cup of tea and mended toy. And every word I never had a chance to…

…Well. I’ve spoken quite enough for you, I expect, and I seem to be out of wine. If you’ll excuse me, friend, I think I’d prefer to be alone for a time. Suddenly, I can’t say I feel like talking any longer.

[teenycabb]

147 for Royai if you please!

Thank you so much Nonny! I hope you enjoy this!

Send me a number and I’ll write a short fic.

147. “I just really miss talking with you.”  

Words: 1,751

Even Trained Dogs Disobey

Going long periods of time without speaking wasn’t unusual in Riza Hawkeye’s life. She was a soldier in the military, it was her duty to take and follow orders, rather than mouthing off and doing her own thing. That was the way to get yourself killed. Either from an enemy bullet or as punishment when your superiors inevitably found out what had happened.

She supposed that it had began in her childhood. After her mother passed, the laughter that had permeated the house frequently, seemed to have died with her. There had been moments after her mother’s death where Riza attempted to continue to live as if her mother was still there, making even the darkest moments bright again. But her laughter never had the sustaining power that her mother’s had, and Riza’s laughter would die out quicker in the silent house.

After that, it was just easier for her to be silent and not pretend anymore.

But somehow, during the years when she became an adult, the silence felt as much as falsehood as the laughter did when she was a child. She still never said much, but she didn’t have too. With friends like Rebecca Catalina, and the men she worked with, Jean Havoc and Roy Mustang in particular, Riza was guaranteed that her life would never go back to the silence she had grown up surrounded by.

And that was gone now.

As the Fuhrer’s personal assistant, Riza perhaps interacted with more people than she had under Colonel Mustang. But every interaction felt as cold as the house she grew up in. Those that knew the reason why she had been transferred out of Mustang’s command made sure she understood she was to keep her place in line if she didn’t want anything to happen to Mustang. Those that didn’t whispered behind her back about what she could have done to garner such a position.

Riza didn’t pay their rumors any attention. Nor did she respond to the jeers and catcalls from some of the more immature of the soldiers as she walked down the halls. It was nothing worse than when she was a child and the whispers followed her from the other children in town. Of course, the things they said weren’t sexual in nature.

It had been months since the separation of the whole team, and weeks since she discovered Selim Bradley’s true identity as the homunculus Pride and the phone call from the colonel. And while she still had Black Hayate at home, his placating whimpers and gentle pawing didn’t quite have the same effect that being surrounded by the laughter and conversations of those people she’d come to hold most dear.

She sat at her table staring at the phone across from her. Her hands were curled around a cup of tea that probably was only lukewarm at this point, but she couldn’t bring herself to let go of the cup to warm the tea again.

It would be so easy. It would be so easy to simply reach across the table and dial one of the few numbers she had memorized since moving to Central. She would only have to say a few words as Elizabeth and then she could hear his voice. He would have been there for a couple of hours at this point, still keeping the image he wanted the rest of the world to see at the forefront.  

It would be so easy to dial the numbers for the simplicity of hearing his voice.

Yet her hands stayed around the cup. It was too dangerous. She couldn’t contact him, she couldn’t risk throwing the one remaining safety net they had out. If they were to discover his network, all they had been working these many months for would be for naught.

Hayate’s tags jingled as he made his way from his bed in the corner to his mistress’s feet. Gingerly, he reached out and pawed her ankle. Riza looked down at the growing pup to see his eyes jump from the door to her and back to the door. Riza glanced at the clock and saw that it was the time she regularly took Hayate out for his nightly walk.

“Alright boy. We’ll go out. Let me take care of my tea and then I’ll grab my coat.”

Satisfied, Hayate’s tongue lolled out at the side of his mouth and his tail wagged, before he went to stand by the leash hanging on the wall. Riza smiled as she watched his happy trot, before gathering her teacup and moving to place it in the sink. The liquid inside it had gone cold. Riza was almost tempted to set it aside so she could reheat it after the walk, but there was only a swig or two left. Setting aside her aversion towards the cold, she quickly swallowed the last of her tea to keep it from waste.

Hayate let out a small bark indicating his impatience, when the telephone rang. Riza only blinked for a moment before walking over to the phone. She paused wondering who could possibly be calling her that late at night before picking up.  

“Hello? Hawkeye speaking.”

There was silence on the other end. Riza was tempted to return the phone to the cradle, and continue on to take Hayate for his walk, but something told her wait for a few moments.

“Oh?” The voice on the other end was subdued, but it was enough for Riza’s beating heart to ease its pace. “I was under the impression I was calling a cab.”

Riza let out a breath. It was only Roy. She wondered if he was pretending to be drunk, or was actually drunk this time. His voice had been so quiet she almost couldn’t determine. But she was nearly certain that he was actually drunk this time. He didn’t make any attempts to keep the melancholy from his mannerisms then.

“Sir.” This was even more dangerous than when he called her after Pride revealed himself, simply because when he was truly drunk, he vocalized his feelings more frequently. “How much have you had to drink tonight?”

Roy was quiet on the other end for another period of time.

“Perhaps one or two more than I should.” There was a small noise from the other side of the phone line. Riza couldn’t tell it if it was a hiccup or a sniffle. Riza looked over to the other side of her apartment and saw Hayate waiting patiently for his walk outside. She had trained him well, but even the most well-trained dog would go against his training should he be left on his own for too long. It seemed apt she would think of this now. She had told Roy it was too dangerous for any direct communication between them after the first call, but everyone had their limits. Roy had simply reached his.

“Sir, you need to hang up and call a real cab. I’m unable to come and retrieve you. You know this.” Despite the stern tone her voice had begun in, there was no denying the softness that crept in and took control by the end.

“I know. I just—I just really miss talking with you. Hearing your voice.”

Riza attempted to swallow around the lump that seemed to suddenly form in her throat. Her nose began the familiar tickle she recognized as the precursor to tears. She refused to let them form in her eyes. Tears would do neither of them any good. Even if they formed because they were on the same wavelength. Knowing he needed to hear her voice almost as much as she needed to hear his, it felt right.

The overwhelming cold receded somewhat. She was still isolated, cut off from nearly everyone she had come to see as her family, but she wasn’t alone. She would never be alone again.

“I know,” her voice had nearly become as soft as his, “I know sir. But I need you to remember what you promised me. I need you to keep that promise for me now.”

The promise that he wouldn’t stick his neck out until the time was right to enact their plan. That he wouldn’t entice those around him to look into his activities any closer. That he wouldn’t directly contact her when they knew how willing he would be to ensure no harm came to her.

Like the trained military dog he was, he agreed. It was a drunken mumble, but it satisfied Riza.

“Thank you sir. I wish you luck finding a cab for the evening.”

“Goodnight, Lieutenant.”

While the words were nothing out of the ordinary, he often said them as they parted ways after a long evening finishing the paperwork he had neglected, the tone was too revealing. It was the tone of one lover to another. The lump in Riza’s throat caught again, and her farewell came out somewhat strangled. Roy made no notice of it, as the phone clicked almost as soon as the words left her mouth.

After a few deep breaths, regaining the control over her emotions, Riza turned to take Hayate out for his walk. Only to see that he wasn’t there. A small glimpse of his tail and a small yellow puddle where Hayate had been waiting for her greeted her line of sight instead.

Rather than getting upset at the young pup, Riza walked over and coaxed Hayate from his hiding spot. Shame was written plainly across the pup’s face, ears and tail drooping. He whimpered, attempt to plead for forgiveness from his mistress. Riza gave a comforting smile and rubbed the top of his head before scratching behind his ears like he liked. Hayate’s tail, while still not up to the normal position, rose a bit and wagged slowly. He nuzzled his face closer to Riza’s hand.

“You two really are a lot alike. Neither of you want to disappoint me by disobeying, yet somehow still do.” She caught the look on Hayate’s face and spoke to him again. “But this one was on me, I was the one to disobeyed and answered the phone instead of taking you out.”

Even if the phone call was the exact thing she had needed at that moment.

“Let me clean up the mess, then I’ll take you out for a proper walk, see if I could make it up to you.”

Hayate’s answer was a lick to the palm of her hand. Riza accepted.