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notlycheesden · 3 years

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Rearview Mirror

Heyyo ✌🏻 this is my first written piece for Endeavor , as a gift for my friend @kogo for the evil exchange. so I hope you like it my dude 👍🏻. A piece I will def be coming back to write more for sure.

⤍ Endeavour x reader

⤍ 3.6k

⤍ TW.incest, TW.dubcon, TW.father/daughter

⤍ Summary:

Enji was trying to be a better father, a better man.

And you never lied to him.

Guess it was a time for a lot of firsts.

Everything was always red between the both of you.

It's past four when his phone rings.

He was awake. even on his day off -those becoming more frequent now- years of routine were still strong. His body alert and aware way before the break of dawn for hours of training before patrol, and later to go to his own agency, the literal empire that wouldn't run itself.

He was pretending to be asleep, unmovable laying on his stomach, face buried on his pillow. Deep breaths in and out in a rhythmic pattern. His massive frame takes most of his king-size bed that for more than a decade he slept right in the middle, no reason to let the right side of it unoccupied.

It was almost meditation-like. There in the quiet and calm of his bedroom between his sheets, he could organize -or at least try- his thoughts. A time in his day where he gets lost in self-reflection. The things he would have to do that day, what work in his agency he would have to supervise, and even stubbornly he would do a little steaming out, analyzing his “actions and emotions”, passing commentary from the resident agency therapist threw his way.

“A strict but good man, if not for some, mishaps, from your intense and fiery nature.” was his professional opinion about Endeavor. The man really lived to throw things his way.

It used to help calm his turbulent mind. But lately there was nothing in his head but turmoil.

It was something he would do until 6 AM, when he couldn't take any longer and had to get up, body and muscles aching from staying in bed for too long, the sun already rising on the horizon, painting the sky with yellows, pinks, and reds.

The silence of his room is broken by the ring of his phone. Instead of the familiar tone of the morning alarm, it was his normal ringtone. When he opens his eyes, the room was not bright as he expects, still shrouded by darkness. Endeavor sits on his bed at once, alert.

Getting it from the bedside table quickly, his posture falls when he catches the time and the already saved contact of who was calling him: Natsuo.

Enji picks up, but before he could question the call, the time, or even say hello, Natsuo speaks, voice grave and serious.

“You need to pick up your daughter right now.”

It’s a punch to the gut. One that makes all the air from his lungs escape at once. In a second, he feels like he is thrown into a rollercoaster.

The only thing he can muster in his shock is a guttural and deep bark of incredulity “What?”

Natsuo cuts Enji off immediately. His tone triggering him into snapping, memories hushing in -not the time for this- “She just called. She was a crying mess, begged me to come for her but I live two hours away-Shouto is on patrol and not picking up and Fuyumi is with her fiance's family at the onsen-”

Enji inhales sharply. Dread takes hold of him while he can't even see straight with the sudden rush of adrenaline, sirens blasting off in his head.

“She was supposed to be with fuyumi at the onsen.” His voice echoes back at him in his bedroom walls, he doesn't realize he is shouting.

“Look, this is really not the time. She has no money and her phone’s dead. I was able to get her to tell me an address before the call dropped. she's all alone there. Are you gonna pick her up?”

Natsuo calms his own breaths now after snapping and shouting back, and he can hear shuffling noises on his father’s side of the line. The older man was up in a second, not really seeing anything, rushing through his stuff picking his keys and wallet. He hates the way his father could make him snap so easily.

Enji was completely distraught.“She said she was going to be with fuyumi…” He mutters under his breath while running through the corridors, even forgetting the phone by his ear, his son still on the line.

But Natsuo hates even more the blatant difference in the way his father treated all of them and you in comparison. Always. Like he could fix his mistakes. Hide his sins.

“Well. Think your little princess lied to you old man.”

Enji didn't even register the venom in his son's words, nor when he hangs up on him.

He’s out of the house in a blink. He tries not to rip the door out of its hinges on his way out.

——

He drives fast, almost no other car in the streets making it easier to speed up in his nervous state. The GPS voice droning about the directions, a forty-minute drive that he would make in twenty.

you said you were going to spend the weekend with your sister.

You lied to him.

Enji’s heart hammers in his chest and his flames burst multiple times on his face out of control. His grip on the wheel tightens to ground his shaking hands, his jaw set with such force that he could feel a headache already forming.

Thoughts were flying through his mind a mile a second. Where are you? What happened to you? Who were you with? Were you safe? Why were you crying?

Why did you lie to him?

It was like his heart was being squeezed by dread and being broken at the same time.

You were his youngest. After he realized what he did to his children as a father, he tried his best to do better; connect, communicate, but he was emotionally and socially stunted -Thanks doc.- and by the time he tried to reach out, it was just a little too late.

Fuyumi was the pillar of the household, replacing their mother too much young and having to fit in a mould not meant to be hers, barely holding the treads of the family and house together. Natsuo was out of the front door as soon as he finished high school and got into med school, choosing to live in the dorms and work part-time rather than stay at the manor. Shoto was another history in itself.

And there was you, a couple of years younger than your now up-in-the-ranks pro hero brother, at the time just a pipsqueak. Too young to remember Rei, remember the worst of Endeavor.

And when he tried to connect, you were there. As if just waiting. Wanting your father to look at you. Frail and innocent and just in want of care, of attention, of love. You welcomed him into your life with open arms and heart.

Enji did try to make it right by you. And for some time things were progressing, even his other children were starting to turn their heads around his direction.

Until Touya’s incident.

The media cracked down on him and his family with a vengeance, almost nothing was left unturned or whole.

Natsuo was the first to cut ties. Shouto threw himself into his hero work, completely closing himself off. Even Fuyumi decided that she was done, took the next step, and went to live with her now fiance, completely ignoring whatever Enji tried to shout about costumes or honor.

Then it was just the two of you.

He tried to be a good father.

He was a quiet man in his private life, strict and with a violent nature, but he reached out for outside help to make it right. An older and trustworthy housekeeper to not chain his daughter down at the manor, guidance from therapist to help him become a better father, a better man, anything to do right this time.

Call it atonement, call it his redemption, call it hypocrisy, he didn't care.

He only cares that at the end of the day, you were there at his side, happy.

This morning he saw the note on the fridge.

Going to onee-san family trip,

Be back on Sunday.

You never had lied to him before.

Guess it was a time for a lot of firsts.

——-

The music blasting through the night tipped him off even before his car's GPS tells him he arrived at the destined location.

He parks way down the street and assesses the place inside the darkness of his car.

Enji’s way out of the city now and inside the industrial district, the building seems old and falling to pieces, people are lingering all around the street, but it’s thicker there. At surface level the building was empty, but the music was definitely coming from there.

He dreads the worst.

Getting out of the car still in his sleeping sweatpants and tee, he throws the hood of his workout jacket over his hair to conceal himself. He’s going for discretion, get you and get out, no need to make this a public affair. Not with this, not with you, not right now.

He searches around but still can't find you. Half an hour has passed since Natsuo called. He's in a frenzy. Endeavor forces himself to calm down and think.

His son didn't mention music. He looks far into the street and he can see the entrance of an alleyway, he hushes there.

His stomach tied in knots when he sees in the dark your small figure crouched down beside a dumpster. your shoulders ate shaking with silent sobs holding your dead phone for dear life, trying to make yourself smaller than you already were, head down.

Enji barks your name and your head snaps to the entrance of the alleyway in shock, your body trembling and fat tears running down your smudged makeup.

“Daddy!”

In a second you were up and running, throwing your body against him and hugging his middle. He doesn't know what to do first, but he opts for following his instincts. Enji hugs your shaking form, shushing you lightly while petting your head. He doesn't know if it's him or you who's shaking more.

He doesn't remember how, but he manages to walk both of you to his car without being seen, his hulking form covering your smaller one.

He's shaking. When Enji puts you in the passenger seat and the car lights momentarily shine everything in an amber glow, rage fills his chest. You are in a dress he has never seen before, he knows it was not yours. He would never allow a thing like that or let you use it in public. Your makeup that before being ruined by your smudging and crying, was heavy and meant to seduce.

He closes your door and gets in the car.

He's shaking.

——

Enji can only control himself enough to not rip the wheel or step on the gas right through the flooring for only three blocks. and thank the gods again for the hour, because he could not quite see the streets in front of him. If they weren't deserted while he drives double the velocity permitted, it would be likely that the fears of his family being again under the cruel and ravenous judgment of the public eye would become reality, although for a completely different reason from the ones he has been dreading until this point.

When he reaches the fourth block, he makes a sudden stop, turning and parking harshly with the front of the car almost all the way over the curb, the tires skidding loudly into the quiet of the night and scaring you out of your still shell shock state. your small sniffles stop when you let out a muted yelp of surprise.

Enji quickly pries his hands that have a death grip on the wheel and smash the roof of the car to turn the lights on in such a way that later he’s impressed he didn't send the entire ceiling flying. As fast as he did that and the darkness of the car is now cast in warm gold, his hands are on your small frame like a striking snake, a big calloused one gripping your face between meaty fingers, squeezing your wet cheeks and the other one in your far shoulder, turning you in his direction with a barely controlled yank. Enji wasn't sure if the shaking was coming from your body or his.

He's frantic, hectic, eyes going up and down your body trying to find anything, something. “Are you hurt? tell me,” His voice is harsh, too loud into the small space. You jump startled, but his grip locks you in place, he doesn't notice.

Why did you come to a party? Why are you dressed like this? Why did you do this?

“Are you?? Someone did something? Gave you something, touched you?” He barks again louder, bending and twisting to be in your face now, eyes scanning all over your body. But again and again, they would be drawn to the too short hem of your dress, from your ruined tearstained makeup and down again to your soft and creamy thighs, trying to find a mark, a scratch, a stain. Anything, something.

“Fucking answer me!”

“Dad please!”

Enji lets you go as if you just slap him in the face. He blinks.

You are shaking. Looking at him in fear, silent tears running down your cheeks. Your jaw is set as you try to hold your whimpers back, his fingers make red marks bloom on your face and arm under his digits.

Memories come back rushing. Phantoms scourging in blue flames.

He releases you as if you burn him.

His hands hover in place, and he doesn't dare to move, still crowding you. Both of you staring at each other in fear and confusion as if something would break.

He slowly backs away, and you keep still. He turns the light off and stares at the road.

Enji couldn't take more things between both of you breaking.

He takes a deep breath. Starts the car again to drive back home.

——

Friday nights are your nights.

Enji doesn't really remember when it started. But he knows it wasn't something that was spoken of or agreed beforehand. It happened once, then twice, then his job got in the way, then thrice, and when he noticed, it was a routine between him and his daughter.

Like most things between both of you, it just… fell into place. And it just felt right.

Endeavor would arrange his schedule in a way so that his Fridays would be empty, any emergency at the agency could be easily solved that way, patrols and hero work set on the weekends so he could come home at a sensible hour, just by dinnertime.

He would be just taking his blazer and shoes off at the entrance when Enji would hear your running steps from the kitchen, your pinky apron-clad figure hushing to meet him with a bright smile, eyes shining.

you would get a hold of his tie and gently tug down for him to bend at the waist to your level, your arms were thrown in a warm hug on his neck and a sweet and lengthy kiss on his cheek after he steps through the threshold. you would giggle against his face from the tickles you got from his stubble while warmly welcoming him, the food still hot on the table.

It was one of your multiple habits together, just the two of you. And it felt right.

It was routine. And it felt so domestic, warm and right.

Friday nights are your nights. After he gets home, you guys have dinner, something you cooked by yourself, sending the older housemaid away earlier.

Sometimes it is a new recipe, sometimes something you already tried before. But it's always good, and when Enji compliments your cooking skills and how much he enjoys it, your cheeks blush red. You daintly try to hide your smile as you thank him, bashful behavior so alluring even when he knows is just a little act, playing coy. There's warmth in his chest.

The lights in the dining room cast everything in this whimsical warm glow and maybe it's the beer, but Enji thinks it reflects lovely on you and the color of your blouse today. He says so.

“Looking so pretty tonight, princess.”

The red on your cheeks grow stronger. From across the table, he hides his smirk behind his can at seeing how you fidget in place, trying to contain your coquettish smile while biting your plush bottom lip. The warmth spreads lower.

Only later it dawns on him. Enji was flirting with his own daughter. And it was a habit.

It was routine.

Enji is sprawled on the big sofa comfortably, already showered and in his sleeping clothes after dinner, the second movie of the night halfway through.

It was a period drama and he tries to pay attention to the main points for your quiz about it the next day, but he was mostly checked out, lulled by the comfy dark of the living room, the buzz of the beers he drank, sleep and your warm body draped over his.

He doesn't really remember when it started, but he knows it was gradually. One day in your Friday movie nights, he notices you were glued on his side, and on the next one you had an arm draped over his torso while both of you were laying on the reclining couch, and since then, you were always over him, arms and thighs and breasts glued to his body, but most of the time cutely laying on his chest.

That night was no different. You are laying on his broad chest, using your arm as leverage to look down and back at the tv in front of the sofa, and for you to not slip he has one big palm over your waist and the other in a secure hook on the slope of your knee, propping your bent leg higher across his stomach. Your breathing matches his, and if not by your little grunts and noises of surprise, the redhead would have thought you had fallen asleep on him. It would not be the first time.

The clothes you are using are small and had hiked up a long time ago, a loose tank top and booty shorts, both of them old and worn out, sleep clothes.

From where he was, he could see all your body over his. From the crown of your head to the slope of your waist as it dipped under his scarred hand. His gaze follows the curve of your thigh draped over his waist to the fat of your ass pointing high. He muses in a daze that he could see the inside of your tank top, the soft swell of a breast making an appearance. He leers.

You move a little, and this time, he can make out the shade of a nipple. It’s pert and small and pretty, and blood rushes to his clothed cock, but is late, and he's tired and buzzed out. It doesn’t connect in his mind.

You move. you are getting yourself higher on his chest. Enji feels small hands wandering under his shirt. Presses of lips on his neck. Wet kisses on the stubble on his jaw.

The soft touches pull him deeper. There's a young and wanton body over his. It’s been so long since he truly touched another, let himself be touched. Smooth lips and an uncertain tongue were kissing him, and he wants to devour them. It’s hot and burns and makes his insides coil, his cock hard and heavy inside his pants. A warm slit humping it.

Could have been the tiredness, the beer, the comfort of the situation, anything really.

Enji kisses you like a man starved. Head moving and ravaging your much smaller mouth with his tongue. His hand yanks your tank top down exposing your breasts, and now he’s pulling and pinching the sweet nipples in a way that makes you moan against his tongue with a voice he couldn't recognize.

His other hand was down at your ass, guiding your movements back and forth on his erection with vigor, the friction against your slit makes you weak, but he keeps you moving, his calloused hand encompassing most of your behind. At each needy thrust his fingers would slide down between the cleft of your ass more and more.

His meaty fingers push the bottons of your shorts aside with a flick of his wrist, and now he's touching directly your puffy lips that are messy and wet all over. Enji growls in your mouth as you moan louder when he starts playing with your pussy, a pitched whine as he flicks your clit up and down, a strong hold on your breast.

A loud bang from the TV is what snaps him back to reality.

It was his daughter.

His daughter was over him. It was his daughter that was humping his cock, that he was sucking her small tongue and tweaking her nipples until he made her squeal.

He jumps to his feet and throws you across the couch.

Different from him, you look wide awake. Flushed face and startled eyes stares up at him, exposed breasts still heaving. Nipples rosy and hard. Between your legs, a glistening trail of where his fingers dragged when he ripped them off of you. Your shorts are drenched.

There's a moment of silence.

Enji snaps. He sprints to his bedroom, leaving you alone in the living room.

He locks his door, drops to the floor, and whips his hard and heavy cock out. in three pumps, thick ropes of cum cover his hand and clothed middle.

Taking big gulps of air trying to calm his breathing, his eyes glancing everywhere in a panic state, he looks down, and spot the wet patch on his clothed thigh. Yours juices that leaked on him. Its still in his other hand, fingers wet.

Enji wants to cry.

He tried to be a good father.

He ruined it again.

#endeavor x reader #Enji Todoroki #Endeavor #Enji todoroki x reader

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mggpleasedontlookhere · 4 years

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it should’ve been you

summary: you and spencer never got along since you joined the bau, mostly because you made a mistake that costed the life of one of his colleagues.

word count: 3,761 reading time aprox: 15 mins

masterlist

“Mistakes are a fact of life. It is the response to error that counts.” said Nikki Giovanni. Although the expression only extends to the limitation of ending someone else’s life because of a mistake. With the existing dichotomy of religious patrons adherent to celestial beings and men of psychology claiming that trauma and fault can enhance cognitive development, the question still stands whether the slight improvement in the human schema is worth the life of an individual.

Why is the essential nature of living ‘to flourish in someone else’s misfortune’?

Is it so, once they’ve experienced this misfortune they can be placed in the shoes of the fortunate soul, with the inability to recall their previous position; causing another individual to fall into the paradigm?

This philosophy is circumstantial, spontaneous even, pertaining to life itself no matter what socioeconomic standing you hold or religious scripture that you accredit. Regrettably, this philosophy stripped the BAU of an agent and the team, of a colleague.

At its core, it was my fault. I was the lucky son of a bitch that flourished in his misfortune.

Despite most of the team seemingly differing this proclamation, it was my choices that led a man to be deprived of the life ahead of him. The only other individual who didn’t side with the rest of the team was Spencer Reid.

Agent Ryler, Darrison Ryler is was a single man who lived in his eclectic condo with the accompaniment of his golden retriever, Sam. He served as a confident to the team, specifically to Spencer according to my observations of their relationships prior to the incident.

He died an honorable and ardent man, even in the most grotesque situations his concern only derived from the conditions of his partners. For 10 years he’s served the BAU, only for a rookie as myself to completely decimate his entire life’s meaning by killing him in the field.

“Ryler, you and Morgan flank the left side, we’ll file in after” Hotch ordered signaling to a door with corroded blue paint chipping off that was located at the end of the hallway we were posted at.

The supposed unsub lived in Manhattan, NY and was responsible for the homicide of five women that resembled his late wife. The unsub had been categorized as a sexual sadist in the midst of a psychotic break, deriving from denial.

The SWAT team lingered behind us, awaiting orders from the team leader. The atmosphere of the situation penetrated my nerves, causing a natural sense of uneasiness from my parasympathetic, fight or flight, nervous system. Moonlight infiltrated through the ragged curtains that hung above a window at the end of the hall, which seemed to be slightly ajar; letting crisp air into the corridor.

I could already feel the little fibers of hair on the back on my neck stand, an obvious indication of my apprehension. Despite that signal, I was determined to follow through with the decision I’ve fought for. To elaborate, it was me who had convinced Hotch to let me journey into apprehending the unsub regardless of my inexperience of being physically out in the field with the team.

I was naive and selfishly driven to expose myself to such an atmosphere I thought I was ready for. I pushed and pulled to expedite my training in order to fulfill my hero complex. Nevertheless, I never consider the possibility of killing a man to satisfy that.

Morgan had completely obliterated the door as it was now swaying from it’s hinges. Ryler followed him from behind, gun pointed at his surroundings as he announced he was FBI.

The rest of the team filed in, SWAT included. Reid had entered after me as we both surveyed the perimeter. Hotch nodded at us, pointing Reid one way and me the other. As I left to inspect other areas of the apartment of the unsub, the shuffling of feet emitted from the loud stomps of the SWAT members increased my heart rate. I convinced myself that it was normal since it was my first time being out in the field. I swept the area, checking the master bedroom and bathroom with a few members of the SWAT, until we heard commotion in the living room.

We hurried to the scene not wasting a breath to calm myself. When I had arrived the men that were with me had dispersed to shooting positions as I stood behind a wall that was directly adjacent to the unsub.

I had taken the opportunity to peek out, gauging the altercation and to my misfortune, the unsub had Agent Ryler in a choke hold with dagger lined up to the major artery in his throat. The unsub began spewing heinous accusations such as “you took her away from me” or “you killed her, not me, you killed her you fucking pigs”. He screamed and shook, rationality draining from him as fast as the saliva gushed out from his lips.

Hotch took the opportunity to calm the unsub down, playing at the factor of remorse he showed in his previous victims. Hotch sheathed his gun back to it’s holster, promptly raising his hands up in surrender while coaxing the violent man into dropping the weapon.

Although these were fruitless attempts, the unsub grew to be more erratic as Hotch approached him. With this I made my presence known to Hotch, shifting to a better position to engage the unsub from behind. The rest of the team stood gawking at the entire scene with anticipation gnawing at their fingertips, agitating to shoot if necessary.

I drew my gun out, my hands becoming slightly shaky from the anxiety that heightened when the reality of the situation came to mind.

I might kill a man today

The unsub maintained his gaze at Hotch and the army of guns that surrounded him. “Fuck you, you fucking pigs. You killed her! You. Killed. My, Kerrie. Now one of yours will die!” He threatened, pressing the blade harder on Ryler’s skin earning a repressed wince from him. The men from the SWAT team cocked their weapons causing Hotch to command them to ‘stand down’. I met Hotch’s gaze again, a distinctive look flashed in his eyes, the hesitation clear on his face as he motioned for me to inch closer to the unsub.

“Please, we just want to-” Rossi spoke up lifting his palm up as a symbol of sympathy, but in reality beckoned me to close in on the individual.

“Shut up! Shu-shut the fuck up!” The unsub screeched, wiping his forehead with the arm that held the blade as he blinked rapidly. “Thi-this ends today, I-i, this is for my Kerrie!”

With one swift motion the unsub raised the knife to slice Ryler’s throat, but in a moment of weakness, Ryler was able to apprehend the man, overpowering his grip as he flipped their positions.

“Y/N! NOW!”

My surroundings moved in slow motion, similar to the speed of the slideshows Garcia would show us as she presented cases. My vision blotted, feeling every sweat droplet begin to dampen the palms of my hands. I felt every crevice of my body writhe in dread and apprehension, feeling the sudden weight of the weapon I gripped in my hands. I took in a breath, setting my eyes on the unsub. Finally, I squeezed the trigger, acknowledging the life that would be taken away.

A loud bang and a grunt surged through the air

I closed my eyes expecting the gun to retaliate it’s force, yet I felt nothing. I opened my eyes to gauge at the scene before me, realizing that my gun hadn’t fired.

I took a life that day, however it wasn’t the life I was expecting to take. Morgan had taken the shot to eliminate the unsub, but only after the unsub was able to plunge the dagger into Ryler’s pericardial cavity, nicking the side of his aortic wall.

He bleed out on the scene. DOA.

I later figured out that my gun had been on safety the entire time we were infiltrating the, now deceased, unsub’s apartment. I could still hear Spencer’s cries of protest and disbelief when he grasped the gravity of the situation. But most of all, I can distinctively remember the menacing look he wore in his eyes as he fixated at me. The genuine enmity and contempt that swam in his pupils spoke the message that his lips couldn’t convey, it was an expression that you didn’t need an eidetic memory to recall.

After that incident, Spencer did nothing but express his vexation at the very existence of my being. He ‘mindlessly’ knocks case files off of my desk occasionally, talks over my presentation of theories, and has undermined the suggestions I would pose during investigations.

It’s been approximately 6 months since the loss of Ryler and the mourning period seems to have curtailed over the course of the year. The heavy somber air that was consistent in the bullpen began to dissipate and the fellow agents painted a more positive light on the life of Ryler, reminiscing on his various accolades. Despite this plateau, Spencer’s resentment hadn’t shown any modifications.

We were on a plane routed to New York City, another homicide had taken place and there was evidence of the case being serial. Hotch was on the phone with the chief of the NYPD gathering new information that had surfaced about the unsub. Morgan wore his headphones loosely with his eyes closed, bobbing his head to 90s music while Emily and Rossi played a game of chess.

Spencer on the other hand, had his nose in a book, his eyebrows furrowed as his long fingers dragged along the pages, scanning them at light speed. His bottom lip had become entangled between his teeth, chewing the muscle in deliberation.

I sat across the jet, complementary to where Spencer resided. I fixated on the copy of Jane Eyre that I brought with me, although my mind had decided to overflow with a multitude of transpiring thoughts.

“Okay, thank you very much chief, we’ll be landing soon” Hotch bid adieu, closing his cellphone and tossing the device on the table with a heavy sigh. “They just found another body” He announced, earning sympathetic and discontented stares from the team. “Kate Walsh, 36 years old, had a husband that worked in a law firm with two children. She was found dead at a Manhattan apartment on the Upper East Side” Hotch noticed the glances of the onlookers before him, although he spared a glimpse at a special brunette who practically harbored his face in a book. “It’s the same location where Ryler’s case took place 6 months ago” Hotch informed.

Nobody dared to inspect the reaction that had been elicited from Spencer. Although his fingers grew noticeably rigid, imprinting the cover of the novel with discernible markings. His chest heaved as he took in the information, yet his composure remained cold and impervious to the circumstances.

Morgan looked to Reid in equivocation before reverting his attention to Hotch. “Do you think there could be a connection to the case we worked there?” He inquired, sneaking another glance at Reid in the process. But to no avail, Reid remained motionless.

“Possibly” Hotch returned, reciprocating the perturbed looks Morgan had directed. “This unsub has the same MO, same victimology, but different signature compared to the case we worked before” He reached over for the case files flipping through the images of the victims and laid them down at the table where he sat at.

Emily had approached the table, looking over the images. “If you look at the stab wounds on the abdomen of the victim, doesn’t it look familiar to you?” She pointed to the punctures evident on the victim.

“They resemble the wounds the unsub inflicted on women on the case we had with-” Rossi spoke, pausing mid sentence. “-when we worked that Manhattan case” His voice faded out, dwindling in apprehension to make any mentions of Ryler.

“Yeah- and if you look at the depth of the wounds, they indicate hesitation marks-” Emily expressed.

“Our unsub is remorseful” I butted in.

“That contradicts with the excessive and deliberate overkill this unsub displayed” Spencer muttered, catching the attention of his teammates, although his immersion in his literature didn’t falter.

“W-well, yeah, I’ll go to the station to start a geogra-”

“Actually, I’ll build the geographic profile for the case to ensure that more people don’t get killed by human error” Spencer disputed, directing his astringent words towards me without losing focus.

“I guess I’ll go talk to the family of the victim” I stuttered, ducking my head behind my chair to avoid the questionable stares I knew were headed my way. An unrelenting hold tugged on my heart strings, my conscience spiraling in revelations of self resentment.

“Actually, Y/N, me and Morgan had already contacted the family and said that we were going visit them soo-” Emily corrected, motioning to her and Derek with lamentable eyes. “But, if you really want you can-” She interjected, the tone of her voice exponentially growing to be amiable and motherly.

“I think it’s better that you and Morgan go, Emily, so we can get an accurate profile on the guy. Maybe this time we can catch him early enough without going in guns blazing, it decreases the statistics for weapon mismanagement” Spencer suggested, this time laying his book flat on the seat next to him, peering at Emily as he insinuated the proceedings of last year’s case.

“Reid” Hotch warned, a menacing tight lipped expression planted on his features. In defiance of the team leader’s cautioning, Spencer continued to antagonize the situation, justifying his response in order to cover up his personal agenda.

Hotch sighed diffusing the latter of the interaction by distributing the rest of the details of the case and certain tasks that needed to be done. “Y/N I’m going to need you to go to the Coroner’s office and find out if there’s any new information or if any reports from forensics came back yet” Hotch ordered.

I nodded in agreement, not meeting his gaze while I fidgeted with my fingers. Unbeknownst to me, the team, excluding Reid, shared a similar expression as they interpreted the tense atmosphere that encompassed the room.

I picked at my fingers, pulling at various strings of loose skin at the bed of my nails. I bounced my knee in uneasiness, my thoughts beginning to revolve around the case we faced 6 months ago. The same memory of Reid’s apathetic eyes that were fixated on me replayed in my mind, making the feelings of self doubt resurface at the base of my skin. Anger flooded freely throughout my system as if it was welcome and well deserved. I clenched my fists around my novel, doing so in the same way Reid did.

“At least this time she’ll be looking at dead people instead of causing them” Spencer mumbled under his breath. Despite his certainty in himself to be reticent, it didn’t seem to catch his realization that his chastising comment was coherent enough for the entire team to hear, including myself.

“Okay, I get it, alright. It was my fault, it was my mistake that killed Ryler but you can’t just sit there alienating me from any case we work on-”

“No, Y/N you don’t get it. You don’t get to justify you murdering Ryler because you couldn’t do your job” Spencer lashed out.

“Reid-” Hotch attempted to disrupt his malicious annotations, but was promptly shut down by Reid.

“No Hotch. You always emphasized how important it is to be vigilant in our job, yet you let her inject herself in the investigation knowing she was completely incompetent in the field”

“Spencer, I’m war-” Hotch was interrupted again by me this time.

“I WAS TRYING TO BE A GOOD AGENT. Can’t you understand that Spence, I-”

“Don’t fucking call me Spence” Spencer retorted gritting his teeth, venom practically dripping from his lips as he articulated his words. At this time he stood up from his chair with his chest heaving and hair tousled from running his hands through it. “You don’t get to call me Spence, Ryler called me Spence and you took that away from me, so don’t think you have any authority calling me that”.

He began his stride towards me, only to be obstructed by Morgan’s arm that held him in his position.

“Look Spencer, I know I can’t take back what I did and yes, I made a stupid decision-” I spoke coolly, dictating every syllable with an understanding and remorseful tone in order to diffuse the taut ambiance. “But, I’m sorry and I want you to know that I regret everything that I did” I explained.

Spencer broke Morgan’s restraint on him, shoving his arm away forcefully as he took a few determined steps towards me.

“Tell that to Mary Anne Ryler, Amina Ryler, and Timothee Ryler”

“Spencer-”

He moved in closer.

“I had to walk up to their house and tell them that their brother/son had died in the line of work” He explained, setting his hands on the table in front of me. “I had to tell them that he died an honorable death and that he died protecting people” He stared at me with the same deadly eyes at the day of the incident, no sense of remorse palpable on his expression.

“But he did die an honorable ma-”

“NO Y/N! I LIED TO THEM” He slammed a firm hand on the tabletop, making the surface rattle as I did when the booming sound met my ears. I crouched down in my seat, feeling my silhouette diminish in his large shadow.

“Now Reid that’s enough” Hotch bellowed, although he was unsuccessful in alleviating Reid’s onslaught of defaming words.

“I WANTED TO TELL THEM THAT YOU KILLED HIM BECAUSE YOU DID FUCKING KILL HIM”. Spit flew from the corners of his mouth landing on the leather covers of the airplane seat. “YOUR MISTAKE KILLED HIM”

“IT. WAS. A. MISTAKE. REID” I retorted, feeling my blood begin to boil as Spencer scolded me. I stood up to his level, slamming my hands down to reciprocate the malicious gesture he had displayed previously. “I ALREADY BLAME MYSELF ENOUGH JUST BACK OFF!”

By this time, the rest of the team had readied themselves to intercept if our back and forth became violent. They were the audience of constant bickering that occurred between the two agents for quite some time now, but nothing has ever amounted or elevated to the dispute in front of them.

“YOU BLAME YOURSELF?!” Spencer began to laugh in a patronizing matter. “YOU BLAME YOUR FUCKING SELF. That’s a fucking joke, well newsflash Y/N, YOU SHOULD!”

“That doesn’t give you an excuse Rei-”

“WELL YOU KNOW WHATS AN EXCUSE?” He pulled my chin with the tips of his fingers. “You. You’re a sorry ass excuse for an FBI agent” He whispered disdainfully through gritted teeth, butting my face away with an incredulous expression on his face. His eyes had completely blackened, the hazel hue that resided in his irises dissipating as they were clouded in animosity.

My impulsivity became too much to subdue as my rising blood pressure took over what little rationality I had. Without thinking, my palm autonomously met Spencer’s cheek with a violent hit, causing him to stumble backwards with his face in his hands.

The rest of the team jumped into action, separating the both of us. Morgan and Hotch coming to Spencer’s side as Emily and Rossi came to my aid. I maintained my attention to Reid, him doing the same, as we stared at each other with malevolent gazes. I noticed the pockets of blood surface on his cheek, a portion of his curls masking the prominent dark red tint forming on his visage.

Emily asked of my condition, Rossi reciprocating the same questioning. I assured them of my state and encouraged them to believe that I was fine.

But I wasn’t.

I could feel every nerve in my system rattle and shake. I felt every pore on my body excrete sweat from the hysteria that I experienced. My head pounded and my body felt like it was being pulled in numerous directions. I took a few shallow breaths to convince myself of a normal composure, but my eyes told the truth of my state.

Emily wrapped a comforting arm around my waist to steady myself and to regain a sense of stability. Rossi maneuvered back to his seat, taking a second glance at Reid whilst shaking his head in discountenance.

Silence engulf the jet, the hum of the engine combined with the shifting of the seats was the only sound to be heard. Soft murmurs came from the other side of the room where Morgan and Hotch spoke to Reid in attempt to console him.

It had been a few minutes after the confrontation, the petulant air of the scene plateauing to a more reasonable space for conversation. I battled with the idea of speaking up, but something needed to be said.

“Look Reid” I began, penance laced with every word that I spoke. “It was my fault, I made a mistake that costed Ryler’s life and I’m sorry. It’s something that I can’t take back and my job will always revolve around the mistake I made” I continued.

No response

I took this as encouragement to sustain an explanation. “But with the mistake I made, I know that this will make me a better agent and that I’ll be able to save more lives out there” I sighed, feeling Emily’s hand grasp mine. “I’m sorry Spencer for all the pain and hurt I’ve caused you, but please let me do my job- or at least give me the opportunity to do my job”

No response again.

“I know you won’t forgive me, but I hope in time that-”

“It’s you” He finally spoke up, meeting the line of my gaze. Although his was unreadable, expressionless almost.

“What?” I ceased my apology, furrowing my eyebrows at him in confusion.

Chills ran up my spine as I looked into the windows of his eyes. It was like staring into the mind of a serial killer. Uneasiness climbed it’s way back into my skin as I gripped on Emily’s hand.

“It should’ve been you who died that day Y/N” He spat, disgust and hostility radiating off of him.

“It should’ve been you”

part 2

A/N:

yes there will be a part two, I’m just finishing up requests atm ❤️❤️

#spencer reid imagines #spencerreid #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid icons #spencer reid x you #spencer x reader #spencer x you #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler imagines #matthew gray gubler imagine

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dragonsareourfuture · 3 years

Text

Mello/GN!Reader — I Forgive You (Part Two)

⚠️Warnings: mentions and descriptions of bullying/abuse. Please do not continue if you are sensitive about that kind of thing or do not enjoy reading about it.

If the title wasn’t enough of a spoiler in the first place, here’s part two lol. Link to part one is right here!

Later that week Mello unexpectedly announced that he was taking you on a drive, instructing Matt to hold down the fort and put down his video game for at least a couple of minutes to watch the security cameras the three of you had set up overlooking the suspected Kira’s home. Once in the car, intense curiosity filled your head as blaring rock music invaded your ears. You cringed, reaching to switch off the radio so you could actually think coherent thoughts.

“Where are we going?” You questioned now that the music wasn’t in the way of your voice reaching Mello’s ears. “And shouldn’t we be helping Matt?”

“He can handle himself.” Mello kept his eyes on the road, switching the music back on and tapping his thumb on the steering wheel of Matt’s old Camaro.

“You still didn’t answer my question. And why aren’t we taking your motorcycle?”

“Jesus, you ask a lot of questions.”

“I just like to know where I’m going with the strange man who used to beat me up all the time. Is that so wrong?”

Mello let out a sigh. “No, I guess not.” He was almost inaudible over the music. He gave you no clues as to where your final destination was, and you began to wonder if he even knew, himself. But eventually, with a sigh of relief that you weren’t lost, the car pulled into a parking garage after you got a glimpse of a sign for a mall. You recoiled in surprise, but said nothing, figuring he was just using that parking garage to be discreet while your actual destination was down the street or something. However, when you exited the car, a surprisingly eager Mello took your hand and dragged you out of the parking garage and towards the front entrance of the mall.

“Wait— Mello, what are you doing?”

“Just hurry up! Let’s get this over with,” Mello huffed, fighting against your resistance by pulling at your hand harder, coaxing a whimper from your throat.

“M-Mello, stop! You’re hurting me—“

At your words he let go instantly, causing you to fall backwards into the pavement.

“Oh, god, (name)! I’m sorry!” He shouted, throwing his hand out to help you up and freezing when all you did was flinch and hide your face.

Mello carefully retracted his arm and crouched down next to your form. He could only gape wide eyed for a full minute, stunned at the effect his past self had on you. Guilt made itself known inside his chest, weighing him down like his heart had suddenly turned to stone. He wondered if his heart had always been cold if he ever thought of treating someone like he once did.

Mello went for attempt number two, gently brushing his fingers over the hands that covered your face and wrapping themselves around your wrist. He pulled you to your feet and stuffed his hands back in his pockets to show that he meant no harm.

“I...I thought that we could go shopping. Didn’t you want someone to take you to one of those little shops in your town? Well, this is the closest thing we got here.”

Your eyes flitted to the giant, glowing logo above the entrance to the mall. You nodded slowly and took your place alongside Mello as you both entered the castle-like building. Mello asked you where you wanted to go first, pointing you over to a directory and listing a few stores he thought you might like, strongly urging you to stop by Hot Topic at least once during your trip. You agreed, wanting to see why he was so fond of the store.

Once you arrived at the small section that was dedicated to “Hot Topic” you immediately saw what attracted Mello to the store so much. Even the entrance practically screamed “Mello” and the inside was even more uncanny.

The blond explored the isles, offering clothes or accessories to you occasionally and, if you felt they’d suit you, you accepted them. There was still a tinge if tension in the air — as Mello hadn’t seen you in a long time and even when he had, he never took the chance between punches to note your clothing style — the two of you quickly collected enough items to load a truck. Mello shepherded you into a dressing room and, as you tried on different outfits, gladly took back the clothes you eliminated from your mountainous pile, handing you new sizes if you needed them.

When it came to be checkout time, you had two bags worth of clothes clutched in your hands as Mello dug through his wallet, which you couldn’t imagine there being that much money in until he pulled out a credit card. Although the cashier accepted it without a problem, you whisper yelled to Mello, “Where on earth did you get that!?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

You rolled your eyes, but let him continue. The cashier handed Mello back “his” credit card and beamed at the pair of you. “Here you are. And, may I add, you two are an adorable couple.”

You and Mello both looked at each other, surprise and uneasiness swimming in your eyes, but acting as a couple would be much better than trying to explain your complicated situation to this poor person who just wanted to complement you.

“Thank you.” You and Mello droned animatedly, hurrying out of the store with your bags to allow the next person in line the check out.

This little exchange didn’t come up again until the drive back to the apartment when Mello asked, “Do you think we looked like a couple?”

“Nah,” you shrugged, rifling through your shopping bags to peer at your new items excitedly.

“So, are you at least close to forgiving me?”

“I might be on my way,” you said in a joking manner, but in truth you were quite serious. A single shopping trip wasn’t going to change much, though it did spark something in your heart when you thought about the gesture. “How did you know?”

“Hmm?”

“How did you know that I wanted someone to take me shopping? I only wrote that in...oh...”

Mello would have hung his head in shame if he didn’t have to keep his eyes on the road. You shifted uncomfortably.

The sound of the engine and the tires against asphalt being the only sound in the car became too much to bear. You reached out and turned the radio on, rock music filling the rest of your drive home.

Mello occupied his thoughts with the next entry of your journal that had embedded itself into his mind. This particular entry raved about the food in your town and how it always smelled so good from the whiffs you got from outside. You wished you could go in and try some but, given your filthy state, the employees would have thrown you out. Besides, what money would you use to purchase such food?

For the next day or so, Mello looked up the best restaurants to visit. Ones that had good yet also fairly cheap food since he blew most of his money treating you to new clothes. Matt would’ve killed him if he found out that their survival money was being spent to simply prove a point to you, but luckily he never did.

As it turned out, there was a fairly well known cupcake shop that resided in the walls of your small town that also happened to be a wide-spread chain throughout the current area.

Mello snapped his laptop shut and grabbed his coat from the back of a chair.

“When’s (name) coming back?” He hurridly asked the redhead, who was busied with his game console and a family-sized bag of chips.

“Uh, I don’t know. Soon. Why?” Matt responded lazily.

You were on a supply run for the bare necessities and it had taken Mello around forty five minutes to find the location of the cupcake shop just outside of the city already. Without any time to waste, the blond wordlessly threw open the front door and sprinted out to his motorcycle parked in the sketchy parking lot outside the apartment building. After revving up the engine the blonde went at top speed in the direction of the cupcake shop, wanting to greet you with the cakes when you returned. This was futile, however, as you arrived back at the apartment from your shopping trip early and waited for nearly an hour before a huffing and puffing Mello came bursting through the door.

Both you and Matt reached for your guns before you realized it was only Mello, startled as the door was practically knocked off its hinges. Mello shielded himself with the white box he clutched in his gloved hands, screaming that it was only him.

“Your point?” You asked, keeping your gun aimed at the panting boy half jokingly before lowering it with a sigh. You gestured to the box. “What’s that?”

Mello placed the box on the coffee table and slid it over to you, knocking headsets and game cartridges out of the way in the process. You peered through the translucent window on the top of the box and your gaze softened. “Oh, Mello...”

“I found that one cupcake shop in your town—“

“You went ALL THE WAY—“

“No, no! There’s another one right outside the city.”

“That’s still a long way.” By now you had opened the box and plucked a red velvet cupcake from the assortment. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing. I should be lying down my life for you because of what I’ve done.”

You stayed silent, unsure of what to say and peeled back the wrapper on the fluffy red cake, taking a bite. You hummed in delight and picked up the box carefully so that none of the cupcakes tipped over, offering it to Mello.

He raised his hand in protest, falling back into a chair after tossing his coat onto the armrest. “I couldn’t. They’re yours.”

You wouldn’t relent, thrusting the box into his chest. “True, but I’m willing to give up at least one.”

Mello allowed the slightest smile to tug at the corner of his lips, reaching his hand in and picking out a chocolate cupcake with rainbow sprinkles scattered over the icing. He thanked you in a hushed tone as he licked the stray bits of icing from his fingers.

“What, I don’t get one?” Matt intruded. You picked a vanilla cupcake from the collection and shoved it right onto his lips, the icing and sprinkles sticking to his face. “Gee, thanks.”

You giggled and plopped yourself down onto the couch after slapping Matt’s calf as an instruction to get it out of your way or else you’d crush it with your butt.

After happily chewing and finishing his cupcake, wiping off the chocolate residue from his face and hands, Mello directed his attention to his cellphone which had just started ringing. The blond clicked the “answer” button and he pressed the phone to his ear as you and Matt carried on your careless banter right beside him.

Mello listened for what felt like an eternity, yet the numbers on the digital clock by the couch never changed. He hung his head, determined to keep his reaction to what he was hearing secret from the two people beside him as blond strands of hair fell like a curtain over Mello’s sharpened features.

“It can be resolved by having a name written in the notebook?” The blond mumbled, his back slumped and elbow resting on his knee. His words seemed to catch your attention as you cleaned Matt’s face of vanilla icing with a spare napkin. “Well then...if I don’t do it...”

“Mello? What’s wrong? Who is that?

Mello waited for an opportunity to hang up, doing so and gazing up solemnly through his bangs which still covered the majority of his narrowed, blue eyes.

“Nothing to worry about,” Mello assured, sharing a knowing glance with Matt before shoving his phone in his pocket and out of sight, “Just a wrong number.”

You shrugged and took another bite of your cupcake, blissfully unaware of the battle ensuing inside Mello’s head.

When they told you their plan, you had all but thrown a tantrum. It was insane, reckless, and was sure to fail miserably but that didn’t seem to stop the duo as they rushed out the door to execute their foolish plan. Of course they had waited until the very last minute to actually mention to you what was going on, knowing full well that you would protest.

“It’s not gonna work! You’re both smart enough to know that so why on earth are you going!?” You hollered, stomping your foot like a child and throwing your hands about in a fit of anger and panic.

“It’s all gonna work out in the end, I promise,” Mello rambled hurriedly while throwing on his biker jacket and tossing Matt his car keys. The blond shoved his hand in his pocket and felt around for something before he tore it from its hiding place and thrust it in your hands. “Even if I’m not here to see it, you will be.”

You stood in utter shock, having heard him basically admit that the plan was a suicide mission, as the brunet and the blond slammed the door in your face. Their footsteps carried all the way down the flight of stairs until they disappeared. The silence surrounding you seemed to break you from your trance as you tore after them, only to catch up enough to see Matt pulling out of the parking lot and Mello just placing his bike helmet over his head.

Your ears seemed to ring as you clutched what he had given you to your chest — an envelope. Mello mounted his bike, ready to drive off when he saw you standing by the apartment building’s entrance. Though it was tough to see through the tinted wind guard of his helmet, you could have sworn the boy shot you a smile full of regret.

Before you knew it, he was gone in a cloud of smoke.

You hadn’t even realized you’d been crying until the splash of your tears on the envelope caught your attention. As you listened to the retreating sound of a Camaro and a motorbike, you tore open the envelope and pulled out a crudely folded piece of paper. Upon unfolding it, the writing was messy and rushed. You assumed Mello had written it in the few moments that he had before he had to leave. You were able to decipher the chicken scratch nonetheless.

(Name)—

This isn’t how I imagined formally apologizing to you, but it’ll have to do.

All I ever got to do for you was ruin your life and then give you some lame attempts at making it up to you.

I swear if I come back from this I will take us off the grid. I’ll take you back to your old town and you can live how you’ve always wanted — you can eat in all the dumb little cutesy bakeries and shop in the most expensive stores. You’ll live the life you’ve always deserved and I’ll do everything I can to make sure that happens. I swear to you, if I make it out alive, I can be that person you’ve always wanted you hold you when times get tough and give you advice about some stupid guy you like. Because, even after this short amount of time we’ve spent together, I realize that if anyone deserves that, it’s you.

If I don’t make it out alive then, well, that sucks for me. If that happens to be the case, I’ve collected all that money that I’ve “earned” and used it to get you a plane ticket to England. You can live that amazing life you’ve always wanted without the burden of me there dragging you down and reminding you of some of the the worst times in your life. Just make sure to find me a nice burial site, alright? Or maybe cremate me. I don’t know, whatever.

I guess the whole point of me writing this letter is to say that I’m so, incredibly sorry for everything that I’ve done and have yet to do. My words will never be enough, written or otherwise, but I just want you to know how deeply I wish I could go back in time and fix my mistakes. Fuck the butterfly effect.

Just do me one favor and please live a happy life without me there to ruin it for you.

-Mihael

You dug into the envelope once more and, sure enough, there was a plane ticket to Winchester, England. He knew he wasn’t coming back.

And, as Mello had planned, you boarded that plane on your own, nothing but a carry-on bag filled with new clothes and his letter to accompany you. The tear stained sheet of paper had worn terribly from how many times you read it. Your eyes scanned over the messily written words during the entire flight, fingertips delicately tracing the indents the pen had made. You tried to be happy for your friends who had sacrificed their lives for the good of humanity, but you couldn’t help but sob silently for the entirety of the flight. You thanked the heavens that no other passengers were in your row of seats, as they might have heard you whisper through dry and cracked lips,

“I forgive you.”

#death note #mello death note #matt death note #mihael keehl #mail jeevas #x reader #x reader oneshot #death note oneshot #death note fanfiction #part two #mello x reader #enemies to friends #angst #tw bullying

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punkpoemprose · 4 years

Text

December 1st- Lights Out

Universe: 1970′s AU (The Great NYC Blackout of ‘77)

Rating: M (Mature, Sexy times)

Length: 3077 Words

A/N: So here we are again. Advent fics, and also decades AUs! I wrote from 1900 to 1950 for last year’s advent and I did 1960 in the spring, so here we are picking up where I left off! If you can guess what company Anna works for in this fic I will give you a cookie and a sticker.

Lets see if I can finish at least the decades this time around, shall we?

Anna sighed as soon as she walked through the front door of the apartment, letting her hair fall out of the low bun she’s had it up in all day. She knew that it was probably silly to keep it up. After all she hated it being that way, but she wanted to make a good impression at work. The better she did, the quicker she could get a good reference, and the sooner she could get out of the city.

She was a bit amused though, despite the hairpin headache it had given her all day, that a coworker had compared the look to something out of the sci-fi flick that had come out some months back. She hadn’t seen it yet, but she imagined that being compared to the princess in the film was probably a good thing, she did know that it was exceedingly rare that a princess was evil or ugly. Her experience with children’s content was, of course, what she’d in part been hired for in the first place.

She shook out her hair and heard some of the little metal bobby pins fall to the floor, they clattered and skidded, undoubtedly falling into cracks and corners she didn’t have the time, energy, or light to locate. She knew that she’d find them again someday, but she hoped that it would soon be because she was busy moving furniture into a truck and her belongings into boxes. New York was interesting, to say the least, but she’d decided that she was much more of a small-town gal than a city chick.

She gathered up the rest of the pins in her hand as she raked her hair through the long and snarled mess. Those pins that hadn’t jumped ship with the initial shake had found themselves tangled in the waves of descending hair and were sometimes angrily biting at strands and taking pieces with them as she removed them. She could already feel her headache easing as her scalp tingled and readjusted to the natural weight distribution of her hair.

The worst part of her job was not the headaches, the hairstyles, or even the momentary concerns that maybe the princess she looked like was the rare evil and cruel type. No, it was much more mundane and far more upsetting, the factor being, of course, the hours. She had been working since noon and it was one of the rare days that she was able to get home before nine at night. Of course, she had expected this when she joined on the CTW’s education research and grant writing division. Kid’s television didn’t exactly make itself, much less make itself educational, but she was looking forward to going elsewhere and working for a less high-profile program and company. A nine to five, she thought, would suit her just fine, especially if it meant that she’d spend more time actually working with kids.

She kicked her shoes off and let herself breathe for a moment before turning around to lock the apartment door behind her. Kristoff has been asking her to be more careful lately with the door, and on the subway, and doing just about anything. They weren’t in a particularly dangerous area of the city and the office she worked out of was only two subway stops from their apartment, but she understood the worry. She was young and pretty in his eyes at least and there was talk in the news about some psycho attacking women. She couldn’t let herself give into the fear of it though, she was done being afraid. She had spent too much of her life being scared and lonely to let it ever happen again.

The bathroom door opened on the opposite side of the room and Anna grinned at the familiar creak of the hinges. She turned and saw Kristoff, fresh from the shower with steam rolling out from behind him, looking as happy to see her as he felt seeing him.

“There’s takeout in the fridge,” he said, looking a bit sheepish, “I was going to cook but I didn’t know when you were getting home tonight and I forgot to pick up the egg noodles on my way back from the shop.”

She wondered how he’d react if she told him that he was the only thing she was hungry for. She’d forgotten to call him to let him know that she’d had a sub at the office while finishing up on some research for an upcoming episode about astronomy, and while she appreciated his efforts at takeout, she didn’t need to eat. She was much more interested in the feast for the eyes before her. She was starving for his attention, to let her hands wander down his chest and to the towel slung low over his hips the way her eyes were traversing the same path.

They were both working crazy hours, saving up as much as they could for their dream of moving to the suburbs or to upstate or wherever they could both find jobs in their fields with a nice little starter house that they could set up a life in. Consequently, they’d both been too exhausted lately to spend their time together doing anything other than eating, sleeping, and maybe listening to the radio before falling asleep. The monotony of it was more exhausting than the workload, particularly when she spent a fair amount of her day wishing for the opportunity she now found before her.

She saw him grin when her eyes wandered back up to his. She knew that he couldn’t have planned to be just getting out of the shower when she got home given he hadn’t known when she would get home, so she called it kismet instead. She shrugged off her blazer, barely turning as she hung it up on the coatrack and returned the smile, throwing in an eyebrow raise for good measure.

It made him laugh, and that let her know that she had looked exactly as mock-lascivious as she’d meant to. She’d learned that when it came to Kristoff, she never really needed to try to flirt, he just gave her the love she needed on demand. Any flirting between them was, at this point in their relationship, mostly for the laughs.

As she stepped forward to meet him she watched as the room went from softly lit to pitch black in an instant. It caused her to jump about a foot, rush forward, trip, and encounter Kristoff who had been, in return, crossing the room to get to her. The impact wasn’t gentle, he was normally her favorite pillow, his largeness being mostly a virtue given the fact that despite his muscle he was overwhelmingly soft, but she had never run straight into his chest before. It was a bit like what she felt running into a padded wall would feel like.

“Oof.”

His grunt of discomfort was a strange comfort when compared to the more concerned sounds, shouts, and confused cries that came from the surrounding apartments and the street below. That, Anna realized, meant that they were certainly not the only ones who were out of power.

“Sorry!”

She offered the apology meekly as his arms wrapped around her. He gave her a little protective squeeze and she rested her weight against him a bit more fully, still recovering from the impact of their bodies that had her a bit shaky on her feet. Normally she enjoyed the sensation of him thoroughly wrecking her, but crashing into him unexpectedly was significantly less enjoyable.

Power outages weren’t exactly uncommon in the summer as everyone ran their fans and air conditioners, but it normally wasn’t something that lasted exceedingly long. This already felt different though, particularly as Anna heard the hollers and shouts coming from through the window from the rest of the block. Whatever had caused their power to go out was not localized to their apartment or building it seemed.

She let her eyes drift over to the window as they adjusted to the darkness they’d been plunged into. She could see past the no longer running fan that there were no lights to be seen in the park across the street from it, nor were there any beyond it.

“I think it’s the whole block,” she said quietly, “maybe even more. There’s no lights in the park and I can’t see any light past that either.”

They were both quiet for a moment as she felt him turning to look as well, turning them together to the side so that they could both look through their dark window, into the dark city beyond.

“Crap,” he groaned, “Might be the whole borough.”

Anna shook her head. That would be insane. They were in Manhattan, it was massive, and for the sheer amount of different areas it contained there was really no logical way for her to wrap her head around the power being out across it.

“If Manhattan is out, the whole city might as well be. I don’t know what it would take for it all to go out.”

Kristoff sighed and Anna’s eyes finally adjusted well enough for her to see his grumpy expression, or at least the shadowy set of his displeased jaw. They sat like that for a while, eyes adjusting to the dark, waiting for the power to click back on and for them to be proven wrong about any more than just their block being out. It didn’t return after minutes passed like hours, and they were forced to move from their standstill.

“Well… guess it’s a good thing that Elsa bought us candles for an apartment warming gift. Do we even have a lighter?”

Anna sighed, “Honestly I don’t know? I think I have a box of matches in the drawer next to the stove because we needed them when the igniter wasn’t working. One of us needs to take up smoking if this is going to become a more frequent event.”

That, she was pleased to report, made him laugh again. She stepped out from his arms to bump into furniture in her search for the drawer containing the matches. She never truly realized how many obstacles their apartment contained until she crashed her hip into the table edge, bumped into a basket of laundry she’d only half folded, and stumbled across a chair leg.

“That seems like an extreme option. We could just buy a lighter and not smoke. I know you don’t like the smell. You always complain about it when we go out to eat and someone lights up at a table near us.”

Anna hip checked the counter by accident but managed to find the drawer handle with one hand as she rubbed the now sore skin through her pant leg with the other. Somewhere on the other side of the apartment she heard Kristoff open the closet door and make a valiant attempt to dig through out-of-season coats, miscellaneous pieces of décor, tools, and sundry to find candles that, like everything else in their apartment, he couldn’t see.

For her part she was rummaging through the junk drawer, fingers making contact with buttons, patches, glue bottles, tape dispensers, and all manner of unnecessary-until-they’re-necessary items. She always told herself when she went into the drawer for something that she needed to clean it out, but it was one of those tasks that never made itself a priority.

“I don’t like it, but I’d probably have a lighter in my pocket if I did.”

She could practically feel his eyes rolling when her fingertips brushed against the rough, sandpaper-like striker of the matchbox. Her hand wrapped around the little box, and she was grateful to feel something rattle around inside. It would have been just like her to have thrown an empty box back into the drawer, and she couldn’t help but appreciate past Anna for leaving her at least a few matches.

“Found them,” Kristoff called just as Anna was about to do the same. It was a small mercy, she thought, that they’d managed to be prepared despite not intentionally preparing for anything. She held the match box up in the dark and shook it hard, the rattling heard across the apartment even with their neighbors still grumbling and shouting.

“Great,” he replied, hearing the sound or seeing the movement confirming the existence of the matches. “Though you should know… Anna I think I lost my towel somewhere near the closet.”

***

The lights hadn’t come on. They’d spent hours in the living room, reading, lazing, complaining about the heat as they read and lazed and sweated in their underclothes. The possibility of going out and seeing what everyone else was doing was offered and quashed by them both on a few occasions, ultimately with them both deciding that they wouldn’t be leaving the apartment that night, nor would they be doing so in the morning, even if the power was back on.

“I deserve a day off,” Anna moaned as Kristoff’s hips rolled into hers.

They’d went to bed innocently enough, planning to sleep in and catch up on rest. The plan had lasted all of a few moments until Anna took advantage of Kristoff spooning her to press her rear suggestively into his crotch. She thought that they deserved some sort of prize for making it into bed in the first place. She’d wanted him since she walked into the apartment, and though he’d managed to put on underwear out of the half-folded laundry basket after losing his towel, Anna had been more than willing to spend the rest of their evening on the couch in candle light.

Their current arrangement was better on their backs, and less likely to start a fire.

“You do baby,” he agreed, his voice deep as they engaged in the only agreeable activity a young couple could possibly agree on when it was late, the power was out, and there was nothing to be done about the heat.

His hands were on her waist as she moved above him, his fingers pressing into her skin as he helped her find a rhythm. She loved the way it felt to have him below her, to give him the pleasure he deserved while taking it for herself.

“You deserve a day off,” she added, “We can spend the whole day in bed.”

He groaned and she felt his fingers squeeze a little tighter at the idea of spending a whole day alternating between making love and napping. Though, she supposed that he might also be reacting to the fact that she was speeding up her pace, riding him hard and fast, trying to make up for weeks of unwanted celibacy in one night.

She was full of him, each time she rolled her hips and sank down on him brought her closer and closer to the edge. She’d spent hours daydreaming of it, feeling the stretch of him filling her, watching the euphoric daze come over his features as he let her give herself to him again and again until they were tired and sated. To see it now in the dim flickering candle light brought an intimacy that she hadn’t imagined before, the light dancing over his kiss swollen lips as he groaned and panted along with her.

“Anna, if you keep doing that I’m going to…”

She rocked her hips and his rolled in return, seeking just the right angle together and finding it as the friction of their joining brought her to her climax before he could achieve the same. She kept her pace, riding out the euphoric sensation as he panted out her name. She let him take up the lead then, letting him set the pace as she moved along with the urging of his hands on her waist.

“Kris,” she encouraged, “Gosh baby you make me feel so good. Please come for me.”

She settled her hands on his shoulders, using him for support as they sped up and worked together to find his end.

He came for her, his grip tightening and his eyes fluttering closed as she watched his face. That was her favorite part of being on top, the view it afforded her of his features softening as she felt him go pliant below her.

They stayed like that for a moment, his hands on her hips and her just holding his shoulders for support, watching him. When he caught his breath and her thighs began to shake from the effort, he pulled her to his side and kissed her lips softly, almost chastely.

“I hope the power stays out,” Anna teased as she got comfortable on the bed at his side, “I know we agreed not to go to work tomorrow, but I think I could live without electricity if it meant more of this.”

Kristoff chuckled against her ear as he pulled her back into him. It was too hot for it, too hot for what they’d just done, but a slight breeze through the window cooled the sweat on their bare skin and made it bearable. She felt him kiss her throat and she hummed appreciatively at the contact, her arm settling over his where it crossed her stomach.

“Or we could just move sooner than planned. Imagine all the free time we’ll have together when we’re on the same schedule. I’ve been looking at jobs North of Albany and I think with our savings we can live on one income for a little while if you want to move up the timeline.”

Anna smiled at the idea.

“Want to hear something crazy?”

He didn’t speak but instead she felt him nodding behind her.

“I’ve been thinking the same thing. I’ve been looking at open positions upstate too and Fisher Price is looking for someone with an education background to join their research and design team. I was thinking about calling about the position and setting up an interview, but it just seemed like it was a little fast.”

“Anna that’s not crazy… baby that’s wonderful.”

“You’re wonderful,” she teased, leaning back into him and turning her head to give him a peck on his arm.

He laughed and kissed her on the top of her head in retaliation, and as they quieted and dozed off to sleep, Anna could not help but to think that maybe the blackout was fate after all.

#kristanna #kristannaadvent2020 #frozen fanfiction #kristanna fanfiction #1970's AU #Blackout of 77 AU

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trustsalvatorewriting · 4 years

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queendom || hope mikaelson - chapter seven

Summary: In which a tribrid falls in love with a human girl

Word Count: 1,982

"DO YOU WANT TO explain what you're doing outside of school?" Rebekah questioned as the three girls entered a small motel room. She set her things down on the nearest bed and approached Hope, arms crossed over her chest.

Hope's eyes wandered away, almost refusing to look at her aunt's disappointed glare. "I was just going on a date."

"Hope, you can't just throw a temper tantrum and commit grand theft auto every time you want to meet up with your newfound lover. This isn't a romance novel." Rebekah glances at the young girl standing by the door, whom Rebekah had compelled to remain calm.

It was odd. They were all the same age, appearance-wise. Rebekah was sixteen, nearly seventeen, when was turned into a vampire by her mother. That had been a thousand years ago, when the Vikings had taken over American land and proclaimed it the New World. Her appearance had stayed true to the day she was turned. Her shiny blonde hair had never faded to gray, her pale freckled skin never wrinkling, her crystal blue eyes never wisening.

So many years alive, yet nothing to show for it but a few supernatural abilities and the ache that came with the death of her brothers. Ones whom she'd once promised "always and forever" to, still wrapped in the idea that they were immortal.

The silver-haired girl standing before her was human. Her porcelain cheeks were lightly flushed, likely due to a mixture of the chilly wind and Rebekah's red convertible. Her heart was beating quickly as she avoided eye contact with Rebekah. Understandable, considering it seemed as though the two Mikaelsons had just kidnapped the poor girl.

"Well, now, don't be afraid, little bird." Rebekah took a step forward, brushing a stray hair from the girl's face and tucking it behind her ear. "I'll simply have a stern talking to with my niece, and we'll send you on your merry way."

"You're not compelling her, are you?" Hope asked nervously, following Rebekah as she went to look through the bathroom of the motel room, checking to make sure that everything was in order. "Aunt Rebekah, you can't."

It stung a bit knowing that Rebekah would be the one giving Hope a stern talking to regarding her first real relationship. Niklaus had always been more experienced with those -- he'd managed to kill several of the suitors that had chased after Rebekah throughout the years. She'd hated him for it, it's true, but Klaus had had the right intentions -- regardless of how poorly he'd carried them out.

Rebekah didn't wish to raise Hope as her own daughter. To discipline her and compel away the memories of a girl she'd clearly come to fancy; but what choice did she have? Kol and Davina were halfway across the world, and although Kol meant well, he wouldn't be able to provide the same patience and discipline that Hayley and Niklaus would have given her. Rather, his first instinct would have been to congratulate Hope for the mess she'd made, followed by a visit to the nearest theme park.

Freya, although she'd chosen to remain in New Orleans -- the closest thing Hope had ever gotten to a home -- had her own family to stand with. A son, named in honor of Niklaus, of whom shared the blood of two powerful witches and a werewolf.

The Mikaelson bloodline would remain supernatural for the upcoming generation, and for generations after that. The magic of the Original witch, the blood that carrys the werewolf gene -- with great power came great danger. Hope would know several heartbreaks before she found the one she would be with forever. This would have to be one of those several.

"You can't be with a human girl," Rebekah argued, taking a step towards the stubborn tribrid. "Don't you understand how foolish that is?'

Hope shifted her weight. "It doesn't matter."

"Of course it bloody matters, Hope," Rebekah spat. She could see all of the boys Nik had taken from her. Drained of blood or thrown from great heights -- he always did fancy spontaneity -- in order to protect her. "You're a Mikaelson. An Original. You can't afford to love someone so vulnerable."

"I can't afford to be vulnerable," Hope hissed. "Everyone I love dies so long as I accept that I'm an Original. Maybe I don't want to be an Original."

"Hope!" The blonde vampire rested her arms on Hope's shoulders. "Listen to me, all right. I know as well as you how hard it is to be a supernatural creature. I understand how badly you want to be human, but you can't put your heart on the line purely to live out a fantasy in which you are human. You're not."

The young witch's eyes lit with flames. She took a step forward and for a moment, Rebekah could have sworn she'd seen Nik's face. "You're not my mother. You can't tell me how to live my life."

"Then who will?" She raised her eyebrows. She turned, heading towards the young girl standing by the door. They locked eyes as Rebekah began to compel her to forget. Forget everything that she'd seen or heard, and that Hope had never shown up to their date, and her best bet was to forget that Hope Marshall ever existed.

It'd be best to keep as much of her memory as possible. She'd likely told her friends about Hope, and it would create lapses in her memory if she had a date with a girl she didn't remember, at a place she'd seemingly forgotten.

She followed the compulsion by suggesting that Angel call a friend to pick her up.

"We can't even drop her back off at the fair?" Hope snapped, her teeth gritted together in anger. "Or even at her house? She could get hurt."

"You weren't worrying about her safety when you brought her into our world," Rebekah growled. It hurt a bit. She wanted to protect both of the girls, not just Hope. For a moment she could look at the young girl, and see a bit of herself. Vulnerable, young, naive. Completely unaware of the monsters that lurked in the shadows. Sure that she would live the rest of her life human.

The girl had a right to be human. No one could take that away from her.

"What's your name, love?" Rebekah asked after a moment.

"Angel," The girl responded calmly. It was almost robotic. "Angel Nguyen."

Rebekah nodded after a moment. "Vietnamese ancestry, Americanized first name. Interesting. Were your parents first generation immigrants?"

"I... " The girl blinked, eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. "I'm not sure. They always speak fondly of Vietnam, but they've never shown me any pictures of them there. Just pictures of the villages in black and white."

Hope took a step forward. "Angel, you said you've never been more than an hour outside of Statera. That you've never even stayed out of Statera for longer than an hour. Have your parents?"

Angel's heart rate increased. "I don't know."

"Are you lying?" Rebekah questioned, crossing her arms. "Tell us the truth, Angel."

"I am," She responded, beginning to panic as she realized the situation around her. It was as though the compulsion had worn off completely. "Please don't hurt me."

"Wait," Hope paused. "Angel, you said you're from Vietnam, right?" Angel nodded in response, and Hope continued. "And you've never been outside of Statera for longer than an hour." The young human continued to agree, until Hope came to her conclusion. "What happens if you stay outside for too long?"

As if on cue, there was a bang on the door. Rebekah glanced at the time, only to realize it had been an hour since she'd picked Angel and Hope up from the fair. Quickly, she grabbed hold of Angel's wrist and pulled the girl behind her. Her heart began to race as the door began to shake, the hinges weakening with each hit.

'A wolf. A hybrid. Mikael.' The Originals thoughts drowned her, her mind separating from her body for a few moments. It was as though she'd floated away for a few moments.

Hope pushed past her aunt and muttered a spell under her breath. The dresser flew towards the door, blocking it from opening. "It'll hold it, but not for long. We have to find a way to get out of here."

"Can you do that thing from Wizards of Waverly Place where you flash us to a different location?" Angel asked, oddly calm. "That would work, right?"

"Not how magic works," Hope responded, only slightly amused. She pulled on Rebekah's jacket as she and Angel ran into the bathroom, likely searching for a window. Rebekah took a few moments to herself before she saw part of the door burst amount, only the arm of a seemingly human man trying to push its way into the room.

Rebekah turned, breaking off a piece of the dresser and throwing it in the direction of the monster's arm. She watched as it impaled its wrist, but continued to push it's way in, as if nothing had happened.

"There's no window!" Hope yelled as she returned from the back of the motel room. "What do we do?"

The three girls watched, paralyzed with horror, as the hinges of the door gave in and the monster pushed its way into the motel room. It looked nothing like a human, but rather, a deformed creature. Its limbs were decomposed, peeling as if it were that of a zombie. The body, impaled with swords, arrows and ancient weaponry -- created before even the dawn of the Original vampires -- moved as though it felt none of it.

Immune to physical pain, to blockades, to even something as obvious as death itself. A monster with no ability to die, and no way to be stopped.

"You've gotta be kidding me," Hope whispered under her breath. "I've read about these. Foetoribus Careat. Latin for 'unsullied.'"

Rebekah raised her eyebrows at her niece. "And what the bloody hell are we supposed to do with that?"

"I don't know," She admitted, taking steps back as it fought its way through the blockade of dressers. "They're supposed to be extinct. They haven't been seen in centuries. They were made to protect people living inside the cities of Indo... China."

Angel. It wanted Angel. The teenage girl who'd done absolutely nothing, who was seemingly protected from the supernatural world, was being hunted by a mindless, immortal corpse. And by an unsullied monster.

"So it wants the girl," Rebekah stated. "It was meant to protect her. Maybe it won't harm her."

"He doesn't look very harmless!" Hope yelled, pushing Angel further behind her. "Look, maybe we could take her to the Salvatore School. Maybe we could protect her."

"That's not an option, Hope, that means endangering the lives of more innocent supernatural teenagers -- all of whom are not protected by this stupefied corpse." Rebekah grabbed a lamp and through it at the monster, watching as the glass shattered and pierced through its arm. Still, no blood, no sign of weakness. "Our best bet is to let it take her. At the end of the day, it's protecting her, right?"

"She didn't obey their commands. They might kill her to punish her!"

"Well, sometimes teenagers have to learn some bloody discipli--" The monster reached for the blonde vampire's throat, wrapping its fingers around her neck and squeezing. Rebekah felt the air leaving her lungs, followed by a burning sensation as she began to lose air. Vampirism didn't protect you from the death that came with a mortal body. She clawed at its hand, feeling its flesh tear off as she did so, but it was no use.

Seconds passed, and it felt like centuries as her senses were consumed by darkness.

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 5 years

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Humans are Weird “Movie Star”

Ok, so funny story, I can’t help but notice that as soon as school started, all of my stats went up, so I see you there browsing tumbr in class when you should be paying attention. Ha ha :)

I promised I would start writing more, so here it is the next story. It was a funny idea that I have had for a while, and I hope you like it, or at least find it entertaining.

The mass operation to move UNSC’s military headquarters had begun shortly after first contact with the Galactic Assembly. They had originally deemed it prudent to move the base completely off world and out of the zone between Mars and earth orbit. So, they had set up headquarters orbiting Europa, which in turn Orbited Jupiter. They had done this mostly for its proximity to the fueling station based on the surface of Europa, and the particle collection operation harvesting from Jupiter’s upper atmosphere.

The U/N.S.C Harbinger landed shortly after operational sunrise using Jupiter’s gravity well as a way to slow itself down and conserve the fuel used to travel over moderatly short distances. The ships short-range engines used fusion technology to power itself, but required a specific type of hydrogen ion to properly fuel the ignition process, so it was more than a good idea to keep their largest store of space vessels so close.

The crew unloaded all their cargo while Commander Vir took Sunny and Krill to report to the Admiral and other officials on the success of their current orders. He wore his uniform, light grey, pinned at the sides with the wings that signified his ran. He even wore the cap, which is something he tended to avoid wearing. Sunny walked at his right wearing the ceremonial armor that she had inherited from her father and the war staff she had taken as prize from her defeated mother. Krill floated at his left shoulder propelled by a backpack with a small attached motor, worn over a white lab coat he had taken to wearing after the fashion of the humans.

The base itself was teaming with life, men in women in a plethora of uniforms colored to signify their use. Brown coveralls for engineering and maintenance, grey for janitorial. Scientists wore light grey lab coats while medical staff wore blue scrubs, paired with white coats when the doctors were involved. Commanding officers wore the standard military uniform in light grey.

They caught quite a bit of attention as they passed by despite the occasional glimpse of another alien lifeform working with the crews. Most of the time they would be tesraki, but he occasional Drev could be seen carrying boxes at the direction of a human officer.

They passed through a set of doorways that hissed open with the pressure difference, and into a steel grey hallway that lead down into the administration offices. The place was as austere as the military had preferred for thousands of years. The only decoration could be seen through open doorways and into offices, usually UN flags hung next to metals pinned into velvet backed glass cases and pictures of the officer shaking hands with someone important. Commander ir had a similar office on the base decorated with an old US flag tattered and scruffy next to the pristine white of the UN logo on the other side. His purple heart and bronze star hung above the desk. For all purposes, it looked like any other office of any other commanding officer in the fleet…. Accept for his desktop background which held a screenshot from the cult classic series Replication, but no one had to know that.

They made it to the admiral’s office in good time, and the door was already open and waiting for them. She lifted her head as she heard them approach and stood from her desk holding out a hand. The commander took it with a greeting and stepped back as she greeted sunny with a nod of the head, “General.” before looking at Krill, “Dr.”

Sunny seemed pleasantly surprised that the Admiral had used her title, standing up just a bit straighter. Commander Vir’s fingers brushed over her forearm as if to say see, what did I tell you?

“Admiral.”

“I hope you have good news for me Commander.”

“Only the best, ma’am.” The man responded, “There have been no serious issues to report. All orders are going well, and our men have retaken the prison and returned all the inmates to their cells without complication. A few people died, but I am told most of them were lifers waiting on death row, and despite my slight disagreement the GA does not consider it a great loss.”

The admiral sighed deeply and spun in her chair to look out the window. A magnificent view of Jupiter’s powerful red rings rose up behind her, and Commander Vir couldn’t argue with the aesthetic nature of the image..

“I am glad to hear things seem to be going so well aboard…. To be honest things are…. A little strained here…”

Commander Vir tilted his head in confusion, “In what way?”

She threw up her hands in exasperation, “It is that ongoing issues with the LFIL and the GA. If we want to maintain our good graces with the GA we have to take their side in the issue. Personally, I don’t mind what people choose to do as long as both parties agree.” Her eyes moved across Vir and Sunny quickly, “But as things stand the GA disagrees with my sentiment, so we continue to remain neutral. However, our action, or lack thereof, has caused some issues planet-side. Our recruitment has gone down by almost 60% in the last month. People are shipping off on those Tesraki cruisers for their fill of space rather than join.”

“I am…. Sorry to hear that Admiral, but I am not entirely sure what I can do to help.”

The woman sighed and stood, coming around the front of the desk, which she parked herself partially seated against, “Before I tell you, I want to make sure you know that you are in no way obligated to agree to this if you don’t want to. We can find some other way to get things done and I wouldn’t blame you, but it would be an unbelievable PR move.”

Commander vir looked on nervously, “Go on.”

“We got a call from an agency on the west cost….. And they want to buy the rights to your life story.”

Sunny would have sword she could hear Adam’s jaw pop out of place as it hinged itself open. He sputtered and gasped for a few minutes “My…. my life story…. Why would they…. What would they want that for?”

The admiral raised on dark eyebrow, “Come now, Commander. The man who flew on the first manned mission into interstellar space, made first contact with an alien race, fought in the Drev War, and then became Commander of the first interstellar fleet. You’re life story is striking media gold.”

“What agency in California?”

The woman shrugged, “Hollywood Incorporated.”

He nearly choked. Hollywood Inc. was the biggest film cooperation that side of Earth, named for the infamous strip of land which had, two thousand years ago, produced some of the greatest actors of their time.

“I…. I don’t know ma’am.”

“Well, that’s entirely your decision, but I would suggest heading to their Martian office and talk to the director because he is going to keep pestering me until he gets an answer.”

***

The Hollywood Inc. Office was located just towards the edge of the gravitational strip in the largest city on Mars. Because of its location, the gravitational field was slightly weaker. The children who wandered about where unusually tall for their ages, a fact that Commander Vir couldn’t help but notice as he opened the glass fronted doors and stepped inside.

The interior of the room was gaudy and over the top, lined with hundreds of vintage posters spanning the last two thousand years. He thought he might have seen a batman poster in the far corner that had to be at least two thousand years old encased inside a climate controlled glass case. It must have cost a couple thousand dollars if not more. The rest of the room was decorated in a similar fashion with hundreds of priceless moments of the entertainment industry from years long passed. Another climate controlled case held at least one of the costumes used in the original pirates movie. The thing should have been mostly ash and dust by now but somehow it had maintained its shape.

The three of them stepped up the nauseating checkerboard floor and up towards the reception desk. The woman who sat there looked like the Victorian era had thrown up all over her. He was surprised she could fit behind the desk, or even sit with the sheer amount of petticoats she must have been wearing underneath. He had to clear his throat a few times before she looked up, and when she did she looked positively board, “Can I help you?”

He rubbed his hands together awkwardly, “Um…. i was told to come here…. To meet someone.” She didn’t look particularly impressed at his explanation, so he cleared his throat, “Uh, my name is Commander Adam Vir from the UNSC….” He was cut off quickly as the woman leapt to her feet with a yelp.

“Yes, Yes of course, right this way, he’s been expecting you.” In the next second, he found himself grabbed by the hand and dragged bodily through a door behind the desk, and into a long, and even more lavish hallway. They hurried past a few rooms before she made it to the door, which opened for them, “Mr. Clayton Ellis, He’s here, he’s here.”

“Wait Clayton E-” His voice trailed away slowly as he looked towards the end of the room and found one of the greatest directors of their time sitting at a horrible tacky golden desk in an overstuffed zebra chair wearing something that made him appear as a prohibition gangster, a powder blue suit with shoulder pads and matching fedora.

This couldn’t be real right? It explained the extravagance though, the man was known for being way over the top even as far as directors and movie producers go. The man stood as soon as he saw them a massive smile playing over his face as he made his way around the desk arms held wide, “Look who it is, the man of the hour, the star, the light at the end of the tunnel.”

“Uh.” Adam said as the man caught him by the hand shaking vigorously. Sunny and Krill exchanged a confused glance. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Mr. Ellis.”

The man waved a hand, which glittered with enough rings to satisfy a king, “Please call me Clayton.” He stood back arms still held wide, “And just look at you mmm mmm perfect main character material, I mean who doesn’t love an eye-patch, just the kind of little piece of personality I would add, you know.”

Commander Vir stood there in bewilderment, “I’m sorry sir, I don’t”

But the man had turned his attention away towards his companions, “And look at this. The quintessential alien sidekicks to our roguish human protagonist….. What a story what a set.”

Sunny couldn’t hold back a snort of derision, “Sidekick, excuse me.”

He turned his head eyes lighting up, “Check that, how about Love interest.” he spread his hands wide above his head as he said it, “Think of the publicity. With all the LFIL stuff going on this would be perfect.” He made heart with his hands and framed the two of them in it, “I can see it now, the roguish space captain falling in love with this aesthetic exotic-

“Wow…. just hold on a second.” Commander Vir barked, “I haven't agreed to anything just yet, and I thought this was about my life story, about accuracy.”

The man waved a hand, ‘Right, right, right, but let's be honest reality is often disappointing. Sometimes film requires a bit of dramatization.”

Commander Vir crossed his arms, “I beg to differ. Unless you consider being almost brainwashed by sentient-space-vacuum dwelling humanoids boring.”

The man’s eyes flashed greedily, and he hopped up on his desk legs dangling over the floor, “Ok, I see you clearly aren't kidding around here, so I will make you a deal.” He raised his right hand, “I swear to be as accurate as possible, do my research and everything, but you have to understand, you are a national-no planetary hero, no interplanetary. You have the ability to be a role model for thousands of young minds who just eat up this media stuff. You and I can do some real good together.”

Commander Vir shifted his feet on the floor running a hand through his hair. He knew what his family would say. His father would tell them to shove it, his mother would want him to do what made him happy, his brothers would kick his ass if they knew he turned down an offer like this, and well….. The contract he could make with them, the things he could do with the money.

“I would have a few conditions.”

“Of course you would, of course you would.”

“I get royalties, and i'm not talking a measly ten perent, I am talking about thirty, and all of it better end up at a charity or you can color me gone. Plus this isn’t just some excuse to do some intense super action space thing with a ton of drama. I consult, and this thing better be accurate, or I am also gone, and my life story comes with me. Plus, don’t ask about things that are classified because I won’t tell you. Push me and I am gone.”

The man sighed, but waved a hand, “Alright, alright.”

He took another deep breath, “I’m not pausing my job for this, so you are going to have to have to talk to me on my free time. Try to underhand or backstab or go around any of these agreements and consider your ass sued.” Sunny champed her beak together for emphasis, shifting in her massive plate armor. Clearly she had a different idea of litigation than he did, but he would talk to her about that later.

Clayton took his seat back behind his desk again, “You drive a hard bargain there, Commander, but a deal is a deal. I will get the contract to you as soon as things are formalized.

“How long have you been thinking about this?”

The man shrugged “Long enough to have started the casting process. I even hired the man who will be playing you, isn’t that exciting.”

“You have?”

“Yeah here let me call him out. Keith! You can come out now.” There was a shuffling from behind some of the stuff, and a man made his way out from the other side of the room.

Krill wasn’t particularly impressed, but by the way Adam took a step back it seemed as if he was, “Keith…. J-Jenning.” The man stammered.”

Sunny gave the human a once over, and immediately didn’t like the casting choice, sure they had similar builds with blond hair and a charming smile, but this guy was….. Well he was a total Deva…. Not that she followed the gossip magazines…. Too much. But just looking at him, with his manicured nails and perfect hair, it just didn’t seem right. She much preferred Adam, rugged, useful, confident in his work, but also not a massive ass.

The man held out a hand, “Commander.” He looked him up and down eyes falling on the eye patch, “How the hell do you see out of that thing.”

Vir paused in his fan boying to look confused…. “Uh…. I don’t, that’s sort of the point.”

The man turned to look at the director, “Do I have to wear one, It would cover like half my face.”

Vir frowned, “No it doesn-”

“Look Keith poles say that women find a man with an eyepatch at least ten percent more attractive than men without one”

The man glanced over at Adam and frowned, “Well…. I guess I’ll need all the help I can get.”

Adam frowned, but before he could say anything a large blue shape had cut in front of him, grabbed the man by the front of the shirt, and lifted him to eye level, “Look here you little weasel, Adam is twice the man you are, and has more honor in one of his little toes than you have in your entire body.” She poked him in the chest with a free claw, “So I would shut the hell up and learn some respect before I reverse the typography of your face.”

A hand grabbed her by the elbow “Sunny, put him down.”

“Why he's got insurance on his face.”

“Sunny, that’s an order.” She let him go with some hesitation grumbling the entire way.

Keith hit the ground with a hand around his neck . From behind them clayton began to clap slowly, “Bravo, bravo, what a show, what an act, such emotion, such loyalty. That really was deeply moving , you feel that Keith, you feel the sexual tension.”

“What.”

“Hey-”

The two men ignored them as keith rubbed his neck ,”I felt SOMETHING alright.”

Clayton stood walking in a slow circle around sunny prodding at her armor, and her carapace, “Now ths, this is interesting, quick do something else intimidating.”

Sunny growled.

“Oh yes, I have the perfect casting choice for you Rita Ortiz.”

Sunny tilted her head thoughtfully and couldn’t help but nodding. The actress was mostly known for her roles in action movies somehow managed to dodge the romantic arcs that film still can’t let go of. She was cool, Sunny liked her.”

With a critical eye the director turned to look at Krill, who watched, uninterested and unimpressed, “How about you little fella.”

The Vrul remained standing arms crossed, “I think this is stupid, i think you’re stupid, and I thinnk he.” Pointing at Keith, “Is especially stupid. IF you just look at his eyes you’ll know he is a terrible casting choice. I mean look at him you can hardly expect someone with the pain threshold of a ballsack to play a decorated war hero.”

That didn’t really get the response Krill had intended and had the man in stitches laughing on the on his desk, “The comic relief, I get it now.” “Wait, no I’m not-”

“We will be in touch commander, I look forward to working with you and your hilarious friends. Come on Keith, lets go call the studio, this is going to be big.” Commander Vir barely had time to react as the two men left them standing in the center of the room with confused expressions.

“This…. This is going to be a disaster.” Krill commented in the following quiet.

Sunny gave a sigh, “That should be the title of your autobiography.” She said nudging Adam on the shoulder.

“Yeah and yours should be Sidekick.” He said smugly.”

“Hey!”

He sighed then.

“You’re probably right though, this is going to be a disaster.”

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ofmidsummernights · 4 years

Text

Hold! Who goes there? Why, is that Elphame Glaerun, the Governor of the Vailsteppes? They do look beguiling for a person of 4500 years. Don’t they call them the wise and visionary thaumaturge? I’ve heard they’re also devious and capricious though. Don’t take my word for it but they do look an awful lot like Michelle Hurd.

Basic Info

NAME: Elphame Glaerun

PRONUNCIATION: El-fame Glay-rune

TITLE: Governor || The Thaumaturge

AGE: 4500, looks around 50 in human years

PLACE OF ORIGIN: Rodarwen

FAMILY MEMBERS: None alive

Physical Description

HEIGHT: 6′7

HAIR COLOR: Golden

EYE COLOR: Hazel

GENDER: Non-binary, They/Them

BUILD: Willowy

DISTINGUISHING FEATURES?: Exaggerated pixie-esque features due to Vailsteppe lineage. Long and sharply pointed ears, with gangly thin limbs and gnarled digits adorned with sharp nails. Their teeth are razor-like.

ANY HEALTH RELATED ISSUES?: None, as far as the eye can tell.

The Vailsteppe Folk have a unique appearance when compared to other Vailar, owing to the distanced evolution invoked in their community through their dedicated worship of nature as well as the forbidden corners of the arcane.

They are hollow-cheeked and gaunt, their eyes and ears both larger as well as sharper in appearance than those of their kin; more adapted to sensing the delicacies in the sounds and sights of their surroundings, especially within the evening gloom of their canopy-shrouded forest.

Their steps are feather-light, allowing them to move with nary any betrayal as to their doing so. They have long earned a reputation as shades of the forests, and are often referred to in the bedtime stories of human children in the form of skeletal specters that haunt the woods at night - the spirits of those who perished upon recklessly venturing there alone.

Personality

Elphame carries the weight of their years with immense dignity and grace, moving with the fluid confidence of one who is effortlessly certain of their own intentions and affairs. They are prone to inviting lines of questioning into the means of others upon idle whim however, to invoke uncertainty even if only to watch the other party wrestle with newfound doubt and trepidation all for the sport of it.

They are predisposed towards fostering an intimidating presence when around others, and will rapidly move in subtle ways to establish their own perceived dominance within a public space - in such a way so as to ensure that all eyes are on them. To that end there is a degree of vanity within their manner, working in concert with an arrogance of self-conviction to forge a sense of cultivated superiority.

Within Elphame’s personality also lies the innate paradox that comes with the meld created between centuries of wisdom and and an insatiable appetite for mischief. They are at once insightful and playful, mature and petty, authoritative and rebellious - in essence their manner is an unpredictable collective of contradictions, which is most likely just how they would like it to be.

Above all else Elphame loathes the notion of becoming known, or predictable - the moment they feel someone is perhaps getting too comfortable with them, or certain of their actions, they like to shake things up a little. Keeps things fresh, and fun.

Additional Info

THE NATURAL MANNER OF THINGS

Elphame is ardent in the belief that the natural manner of the world is to be governed not by governments and walls but rather solely through its own natural forces – nature and magic in tandem. They view the affairs and politics of other nations as entirely petty and irrelevant, believing that the only meaningful fate is for Vailar to be once again be freed into the whims of nature and the arcane.

As a result they are an available ally to dragons and fellow unorthodox mages, and a natural enemy to any organized institutions, governing bodies or state infrastructures promoting any form of social order.

INTRODUCE A LITTLE ANARCHY

Further to their macrocosmic perspective of the world and its functions, Elphame has a petty nature that can very much hinge upon and shift axis on a whim. To this end, there’s an innate delight they experience in invoking chaos in organized settings and provoking turbulence in otherwise staid or “boring” domains.

Due to this, they are a covert supporter and resource-laden backer available to members of the rebellion. They delight in the thought of the rebels making a resurgence, due to the absolutely sublime mess of things they provoked in communities all over the last time the movement rose to prominence.

THE HOUSE OF WONDERS

Elphame is a powerful mage with a widely famed – if ominously shrouded – reputation as a thaumaturge; a maker of miracles. As part of curating their own image as well as enhancing the perceived power lurking within House Glaerun, Elphame is always open to opportunities to further cement this impression of the depths of their magical aptitude.

They therefore run something of a personal business of granting such “miracles” for others – but always at a price. Whether it be a request for wealth, love, a chance for extended life, or a fatal curse upon an enemy they have no qualms; however one must be prepared to pay in tribute something of equal worth.

History

THE VAILSTEPPE FOLK

The Vailsteppe Folk have evolved over many thousands of years to become genetically distanced from their Vae kin, having become “pixie”-like in their features due to growing too close to nature in their highly involved magical practices. Having taken those practices too far for too long, they somewhat lost themselves to the intoxication of the very force they worship.

Gradually they became almost one with the forest and magic therein themselves, growing increasingly capricious, disinterested in the delicacies of national and international politics - as well as the will and word of the Council itself, even. Uniquely their sexual dimorphism has nigh on disappeared through this same process, and as a culture they have come to identify themselves as a nonbinary community. The Vailsteppe population is small, as the norm in their society is for children to only be conceived once or twice late in their 5000 year lives in order to secure inheritance upon their forebears’ passing.

KINGDOM

The Vailsteppe Folk’s love for the forest in which they dwell is reflected in their sigil. From their ancestral seat in Rodarwen do they govern the surrounding woodland out to the open steppe beyond. Their forests are dark, labyrinthine and tangled; their greatest defense being that one must intimately know the way to the city, lest they otherwise be lost forever in the shrouded gloom of the forest which otherwise threatens to lead even the most wary travellers astray. Their realm has long held a secluded, mysterious and removed reputation due to their location – and the fact that its denizens guard the secret of their veiled paths and hidden trails with utmost jealousy. They believe that their forest is that which had first sprung from Vailanwiel’s sacrifice those many eons ago.

FAMILY

A partner is merely one’s chosen to produce an heir with when twilight years at last approach, and surnames are now little more than indicators of those inheritances. One’s loyalty to the community and neighbours as a whole far outweighs that to those who share your surname.

Despite being mature in years, Elphame has shown no interest in considering a partner in order to produce an heir to secure their hereditary governorship with. Mysteriously, the Vailsteppe Folk appear neither concerned nor curious as to the reasons why.

MAGIC

Elphame is a practitioner of “low magic” with thousands of years in experience; their specialty has been in Divination magic, wherein they have particular affinity for oneiromancy, geomancy and astromancy. The hedge witch that started Elphame on their journey into the arcane is long deceased, and though in their youth Elphame once had ties to the Magaesterium these were likewise severed in the distant past – the reason for this being concerns and objections over Elphame’s experimental forays into forbidden, darker magics in their increasingly unsettling apathy for collateral consequences. Elphame is a proficient practitioner of blood magic – it is the source of their “wonders”, and a method they are more than happy to use in pursuit of both their long-term goal of returning Vailar to nature, and to have a little fun on the way there.

#kc.intro #about

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kc-rp · 4 years

Photo

Congratulations, you’ve been accepted!

Please send in your account and look over the checklist to make sure you’re following everyone and the tags for the rp.

Please welcome the following character:

HOLD! WHO GOES THERE? WHY, IS THAT [ELPHAME GLAERUN] THE [GOVERNOR] OF [THE VAILSTEPPES]? THEY DO LOOK [BEGUILING] FOR A [PERSON] OF [4500] YEARS. DON’T THEY CALL [THEM] THE [WISE AND VISIONARY THAUMATURGE]? I’VE HEARD THEY’RE ALSO [DEVIOUS AND CAPRICIOUS] THOUGH. DON’T TAKE MY WORD FOR IT BUT THEY DO LOOK AN AWFUL LOT LIKE [MICHELLE HURD].

Plots they’re interested in:

Additional Info

THE NATURAL MANNER OF THINGS

INTRODUCE A LITTLE ANARCHY

THE HOUSE OF WONDERS

Optional Info

> THE VAILSTEPPE FOLK

Uniquely their sexual dimorphism has nigh on disappeared through this same process, and as a culture they have come to identify themselves as a nonbinary community. The Vailsteppe population is small, as the norm in their society is for children to only be conceived once or twice late in their 5000 year lives in order to secure inheritance upon their forebears’ passing.

> KINGDOM

Their realm has long held a secluded, mysterious and removed reputation due to their location – and the fact that its denizens guard the secret of their veiled paths and hidden trails with utmost jealousy. They believe that their forest is that which had first sprung from Vailanwiel’s sacrifice those many eons ago.

> FAMILY

House Glaerun is an old “family” that has been suspicious of centralized power and reclusive where it comes to outside affairs for as long as the records at Rodarwen can remember. Due to the way the Vailsteppe community now operates and perceives themselves, family has taken on an unorthodox form compared to other societies in Vailar. A partner is merely one’s chosen to produce an heir with when twilight years at last approach, and surnames are now little more than indicators of those inheritances. One’s loyalty to the community and neighbours as a whole far outweighs that to those who share your surname.

> MAGIC

The hedge witch that started Elphame on their journey into the arcane is long deceased, and though in their youth Elphame once had ties to the Magaesterium these were likewise severed in the distant past – the reason for this being concerns and objections over Elphame’s experimental forays into forbidden, darker magics in their increasingly unsettling apathy for collateral consequences.

Elphame is a proficient practitioner of blood magic – it is the source of their “wonders”, and a method they are more than happy to use in pursuit of both their long-term goal of returning Vailar to nature, and cause a little fun on the way there.

#kc.accepted #magic rp #fantasy rp #medieval rp #oc rp

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queenofnohr · 5 years

Text

Yan Qing Interlude - Death of a Certain Outlaw

Phew, this one was a doozy. Warning: This Interlude hinges on the reader having knowledge of how exactly Doppelganger and Yan Qing are tied to each other as well as knowledge of Water Margin. I try to give context in translator’s notes at the end, but…… yeah.

Only one set of options for now because I was supposed to put this up Saturday, but my internet was blown out for the last 4 days and anywhere with free wifi is quite a ways away. I’ll probably end up adding them this weekend (and for now the corresponding options are bolded)

If text isn’t tagged in brackets or with a character tag, it means it’s unnamed narration. (I also recommend pulling up a video or the Interlude itself cuz there are some cool effects (like the scenery being “glitchy” during narration segments))

Now that I’m done with uni, translation commissions are open for the immediate future!

―Doesn’t everyone have this thought at least once in their lives? That is - am I really myself? Can you say for certain whether or not you’re just a puppet, controlled by someone else? Maybe this world is nothing but a sham, and I am a being that only exists within the mind―

In this world, “yourself” isn’t anything that truly exists. Legends, myths - those certainly do exist. Now then. ―Just who am I?

[in Shinjuku]

Yan Qing: *pant* *pant* *pant* …… The sky is dull, the water tastes filthy, the stench of blood hangs thick in the air - the atmosphere is altogether the fucking worst. The bleeding won’t stop. I’ve been cornered. ???: How does it feel to die? Yan Qing: Ah― it really is the worst. Laughing, sneering, jeering. And yet, here, in my final moments, doubt rises from the depths of my mind. In the end, all I wanted to know was life as a human being. Just who was I, really? I wonder if the man before me laughs because he knows. Yan Qing: Hey - who am I? ???: ……. ……. You are― I can’t hear him laughing. I quietly close my eyes.

[scene change, rooftop]

> We’ve come to Shinjuku again……

Mash: Communications are stable, Master. Allow me to explain the situation once more. Shinjuku, as a Singularity, has already been corrected. As such, no matter what strange phenomena might occur here, it will have no effect on the Human Order Foundation, however― One Servant Leyshifted to Shinjuku. Known as the Shinjuku Assassin, his True Name is Yan Qing…….

> Does anyone know what happened to Yan Qing? > Is it certain he’s in Shinjuku?

Mash: I have no other information to report other than that he Leyshifted to Shinjuku. Accompanying you as navigators are Cursed Arm Hassan and Geronimo. I look forward to working with the both of you. Geronimo: The pleasure is mine. Cursed Arm: Then, Master, where shall we begin the search? Geronimo: We won’t find him by searching at random. It seems we have no choice but to follow his magical energy…… Mash: Yes, and we have the tracking data from it. The problem is, at a certain point, Yan Qing’s trail effectively disappears. It might be because of increased interference on the part of the monitoring device, or perhaps…… Cursed Arm: Hm. Perhaps he suffered a grievous wound, or even perished. No, excuse me - I spoke without thinking. Please be at ease, Gudako-dono. Yan Qing is a strong person with high mental fortitude. In fact, he’s probably at his best running around this city. Geronimo: I suppose you’re right - this isn’t a serious enough issue to require fortune telling. I, too, will guarantee his survival. Cursed Arm: Then, for the time being, I’ll investigate our surroundings. We shall have a better chance at finding him with our options narrowed down. Geronimo: I suppose we’ll wait until you’ve returned. But taking our Master’s endurance into account, I’d like to finish this within the day. Cursed Arm: Haha, but of course. Well then, I’ll be back shortly.

> Take care > Be careful―

Cursed Arm: I’m grateful for your concern. But worry not. For we Hassans are one with the shadows.

[Cursed Arm leaves]

Geronimo: Then, for the time being―

[Cursed Arm returns]

Cursed Arm: I found him. Geronimo: That was fast.

> So fast!?

[scene change, streets]

Yan Qing: Oh, Miss~! Can I get a meat bun with whatever kind of meat that is? Thanks~.

> It really is Yan Qing…… > What the hell is he doing

Cursed Arm: When I saw him I, too, doubted my eyes. I thought - there must be a limit on how much one can slack off. Yan Qing: Oh, if it isn’t my Master. What’s up?

> Don’t you “What’s up” me!

Yan Qing: ? ……No. That’s right. After all, I just turned up without a word, didn’t I. Ah, sorry. I really am sorry, but― There’s something I must do here. I won’t let anything get in my way. Yan Qing (?): It’s no excuse, but I will not allow myself to be caught!

> This is Doppleganger’s power……!? > He shapeshifted!

Yan Qing (?): That’s right. I’m going all out this time. It’s all over if you catch me here, you see! Geronimo: He’s about to lose it. At this rate― Our best course of action is probably beating him into submission. Let’s go, Master. Mash: Everyone, please prepare for combat!

[battle]

Yan Qing (?): Sorry, but I’m out. See ya! Geronimo: A smokescreen……! Cursed Arm: It seems he stole it from someone while we fought. Mash: W- What should we do? He said he had something to do, but…… Cursed Arm: ……This is certainly unfortunate. Gudako-dono, let’s pursue him. Geronimo: Oi. Cursed Arm, do you know what exactly it is Yan Qing should be doing? Cursed Arm: Indeed, as it has to do with me. Now then, shall we head out? His destination is unknown, but so what? We’ll just have to go over this city with a fine-toothed comb. It’s a routine job for a Hassan such as I.

[2nd arrow]

Wandering, searching for that which must be done. Something that cannot be cleaned away, atoned for, compensated. If something gets in my way, I’ll eliminate it. Because my objective is righteous. Because it is righteous, it is for the sake of being righteous. I will take revenge on him. [scene change] Geronimo: So, basically, it’d be better to go after him, but…… If he’s disguised, finding him would be impossible. Then, what should we do? Cursed Arm: Not impossible - in our previous battle, I secretly marked him. It’s a cursed incense passed down in my organization. We only need to be near him to detect him. Geronimo: Oho, so that was what you were preparing during battle. Then we’ll be counting on you to guide us, Cursed Arm. Cursed Arm: It would be my honor, Master.

> Please guide us!

Cursed Arm: ……Hm. It’s faint, but the scent is in the air. It’s surprising that we’d locate him so soon. He’s this way. I’ll take the lead.

[scene change]

Geronimo: By the way, I’ve been thinking about our conversation from earlier.

> What are you thinking? > About what he “must do”?

Geronimo: Indeed. Why did he want to go back to Shinjuku? And you, Cursed Arm - what is it that you know? Cursed Arm: …………Alright. It isn’t something I should’ve spoken of so easily, but the situation being what it is, I happened to have a slip of the tongue. The truth is, in Chaldea, Yan Qing came to apologize to me.

> Because of the Shinjuku Incident…… > Apologize for what?

Cursed Arm: Indeed, because of what happened during the Shinjuku Incident.

[Chaldea flashback]

Yan Qing: Eyo, Master Cursed Arm. Do you have a minute? Cursed Arm: Go ahead and come in, Yan Qing-dono. What troubles you? Yan Qing: I feel like there’s something I need to apologize to you for. Cursed Arm: Apologize……? I can’t think of anything in particular that would warrant an apology. Yan Qing: But it seems like, because of what I did in Shinjuku, I caused you trouble. Cursed Arm: ……So that’s it. What you did certainly was described in the Shinjuku report. My name appeared in it, so I read it just in case, but…… It isn’t anything you need to apologize for. Living as an intelligence agent, disguising yourself to betray others is inevitable. Yan Qing: Maybe you’re right. After all I don’t particularly feel any way about it. But even if it isn’t in my heart, my body itches for it*. I must make amends with you if I want to move forward. And, if possible― I must return to Shinjuku to accomplish it. Cursed Arm: Accomplish “it”……?

Yan Qing: Yeah, you know that saying - “If you commit a sin, work to atone for even a part of it”? It’s sorta like that. Cursed Arm: ……But isn’t is enough to fight alongside our Master? You don’t have to search for atonement in Shinjuku specifically. Yan Qing: ……Yeah, I guess you’re right. No, you’re exactly right. Man, what was I thinking! Just forget I said anything. Cursed Arm: …………

[end flashback]

Cursed Arm: Altogether, I didn’t think anything of it, so I didn’t press it, but…… Upon entering Shinjuku, I remembered how I felt at that time. Even if I was smiling then, my heart was not. Yan Qing is still probably seeking atonement. Geronimo: Atonement, huh. But what the Shinjuku Assassin did has nothing to do with Yan Qing. It can’t be that way. If it were, as Heroic Spirits, our sins would pile up with each time we’re summoned. Even if we were talking about a hero from the Age of Gods, that’s an unbearable burden to place on anyone. To prevent this, we only retain records themselves, we do not “remember.” Mash: As a Demi-Servant, I have no memories from Galahad…… If I did, I think my mind** would wear down.

> But, Yan Qing……

Cursed Arm: ……That’s enough talk. We’ve caught up with him. The Hornet over there is Yan Qing.

[Hornet enemy type appears]

> Yan Qing!

Yan Qing (?): Gah, you already found me!? Geronimo: Yan Qing. Is what you seek atonement? Or is it perhaps retribution - to be judged for your sins.

[Yan Qing reveals himself]

Yan Qing: ……I’m not searching for anything. It’s something I must do, I’m sorry, Geronimo. I have to do it, or I will no longer be me.

―I have a headache. Proper Heroic Spirits don’t understand the agony grating against my soul. Is simply being killed a punishment in itself? No, I have to die more miserably than that.

> Yan Qing……?

Yan Qing: ……Don’t try to stop me, Master. I beg you…… I’m begging you. I have to die. Cursed Arm: You’re contradicting yourself. And you’ve gotten green, Yan Qing. If it’s a sin so heavy you must be killed for it, in order to bear it, fight― I can’t leave you as you are right now. You’re just a despicable greenhorn who’s lost his head trying to scrub away his regrets. Yan Qing: ……! Cursed Arm: How about you, Master? ……If you’re to accept his atonement, with the way things are now, it would be best to just go back.

> I can’t accept it > Let’s talk it out

Yan Qing: Unfortunately, I don’t have time for this……! ―Damn it, so it’s gotta be like this again.

[he turns back into the masked enemy]

Yan Qing (?): If that’s the way it is, I’ll take you on! Sorry, Master!

[two more appear]

Geronimo: Hmph, he can multiply himself just like a planarian or some seaweed. Mash: I think he just called for reinforcements…… Ahem. Anyway, prepare for battle!

[battle]

Geronimo: It seems he escaped while we were defeating the other Hornets. But…… hm. What do you think, Cursed Arm? Cursed Arm: About what? Geronimo: If the end is just? Cursed Arm: ―Of course. That’s why I came here, after all.

> What do you mean? > Perhaps you’re right……

Cursed Arm: Allow me to explain next time we encounter Yan Qing. He also needs to hear it.

[third arrow]

―It’s not here. It’s not here either. It isn’t anywhere. How strange. It has to be here. That person is still here, I’m sure of it. Ah, my body is crumbling. I can’t maintain my spirit foundation as Yan Qing. The sky is dull, the water tastes filthy, ???: How does it feel to die? When I look back, the Grim Reaper is standing there, waiting eagerly for me.

[black screen]

Yan Qing: What, so you were here after all? Cursed Arm Hassan.

[Cursed arm is in view along with the city]

Yan Qing: That’s right, I have to apologize to you. I killed you, I killed you, after all. No, that’s wrong. I was killed. I was killed by you. ……No, wait. Please wait. My memory- My memories are all jumbled up……! Cursed Arm (?): It’s already over, so it’s best to quietly accept it. ……. ……. We can never atone for our sins. Yan Qing: ……That voice…… No, wait…… Are you me? Cursed Arm (?): I shall answer your question with another. Who are you?

[Cursed Arm turns into Yan Qing]

[scene change]

> Hassan…… > Yan Qing……!?

Yan Qing: Eyo, sorry Master! My plan was to trick him, but it didn’t pan out! Geronimo: Hm. It seems you are the real Yan Qing. However, that one also maintains a Saint Graph comparable to Yan Qing. ……This one is at least able to laugh. Is the Yan Qing over there Doppelganger then? Yan Qing (?): Ah…… A- Ah…… AGHHHHHHHHH!! Yan Qing: Oi, oi, calm down, me! Ah, it’s no use. This is bad, I revealed my true form too soon!

[Doppelganger starts rapidly changing forms]

Mash: This is…… A Servant…… No, Christine……? As well as Hassan, Yan Qing…… It transformed into various other enemies! Yan Qing: Well, whatever, let’s calm him down, Master!

> So we just have to beat him! > Er, meaning……?

Yan Qing: Yup! Well then, me that isn’t me. It’s time you return to the place we can be ourselves. Here, the existence you must atone for doesn’t exist. So― If we don’t finish everything here, neither of us will be able to maintain ourselves!

[battle, then scene starts off with a screen blood splatter] [flashback, rooftop]

Cursed Arm: Guh― Shinjuku Assassin: It’s over, Hassan-i Sabbah. Cursed Arm: ……It’s my loss. Take this head of mine. Shinjuku Assassin: Huh? Why would I do a stupid thing like that? No, I’m going to copy your Saint Graph instead. Cursed Arm: ……! Shinjuku Assassin: After all, sooner or later your little Chaldea friends are gonna come to visit, and I’ll - or should I say you’ll - be there to greet them! Cursed Arm: ―So you stay your hand for the perfect ambush setup. You’re a Heroic Spirit worthy of the name Assassin. Very well. Then as a Servant summoned to this land, let me show you the depths of my will. Shinjuku Assassin: Oh, so you’re taking me on? The Big Shot of the assassin world. It’s an honor to be able to kill each other, Hassan. Cursed Arm: ―Dying without being able to do anything. I thought that would be my role, but it is precisely because I cannot do anything that there is indeed something I can do. Shinjuku Assassin: What……? Cursed Arm: ―Zabaniya! Shinjuku Assassin: Ha, I knew it! You can’t take my heart without any prep! Cursed Arm: You’re right. But this time I don’t need a copy.

[blood splatter]

Shinjuku Assassin: What……!? Cursed Arm: Kuku…… Looks like it was successful. Shinjuku Assassin: Your own heart…… why? Cursed Arm: It should be obvious. I believe Chaldea will save this city…… If that’s the case, then I am merely lending my support as a Servant. Shinjuku Assassin: Huh…… Huh……!? How stupid! All this for a hunch! You’re giving your life for someone you’re not even sure will come!? Cursed Arm: Of course. I was summoned as a stray Servant. As such, my mission was to save this city. No, it wasn’t just that. The will of heaven…… No, it’s better to refer to it as a mission. In any case, it’s only natural to become a martyr to that end. Shinjuku Assassin: ……! Cursed Arm: With my death, your imitation cannot be complete. ……It’s such a small thing for me, and such a large failure for you. To the person who will save this yet unknown city - farewell……!

[Cursed Arm disappears]

Shinjuku Assassin: Damn it……! What the hell! For fuck’s sake! That wasn’t for the sake of your lord. Dying for someone you’ve never even met……!? That’s such a fucking bullshit end……! Damn it, damn it, damn you……!

[scene change, looking at sky, still flashback]

―My Saint Graph grates against itself, crashes together. I was someone who once betrayed my Master at the very end, yet even so I still intended to serve faithfully. So, I understand completely. That Assassin’s devotion isn’t something that just anyone can live up to. How ungainly, how very enviable. Ah, it’s grating. It’s coming apart. Splitting in two. It’s being torn apart……! O, lord, my lord! Why did you rush so foolishly to throw away your life! You were smarter than that! Was it for the sake of some hint of glory? Is that unfathomable devotion in me! ……I don’t understand. At that time, fear pierced the depths of my heart. How could I oppose my lord, who saved my life, which should have been abandoned? I didn’t know what I should have done. Nothing, nothing……. Not even the slightest bit……. I didn’t understand anything at all……***

[scene change, present]

Yan Qing: ……And that’s the reason why. That person is me and yet not me. Doppelganger, an existence that should be a phantom. That’s why I could pursue them pretty easily. After all, I still possess some of Doppelganger. Cursed incense? Sorry, that was a lie. Geronimo: So you separated…… I don’t quite get it. Yan Qing: If I had to say, it’s a copy. Using Doppelganger’s power, Shinjuku Assassin could transform into anything. ……Little by little, I lost sight of who I was, until I was defeated by Master. This is what remained, but it was still connected to the me that was summoned by Chaldea. ……That’s right. We’re tied together. The report that I Leyshifted was probably due to the disorder at that time. He thought he was Yan Qing, and returned to Shinjuku again. And I couldn’t allow him to do the same kinda stuff he was doing before. I’m not the villain who controlled Shinjuku, but a chivalrous outlaw. Look, I’m a person with a strong sense of justice, right?

> If it’s you we’re talking about, you’re definitely an outlaw of justice > You mean a chivalrous outlaw of darkness?

Yan Qing: Wahahahaha. Thanks for playing along, Master! Yan Qing (?): Ah…… Ahhhhh…… I can’t atone……. I can’t redeem myself…… There’s only regret…… Nothing but regrets piled high, and I’m still alive…… I can’t stand it…… Yan Qing: You wanted to die, so you tried to kill. Because if you killed then you would be killed. Am I wrong?

[Doppelganger turns into a skeleton ghost]

Doppelganger: ……I…… I am…… I am****…… Everyone……. No one…… Because I have no self, I am no one, because I possess neither good nor evil intent, I cannot become anything. I can only live in the interval between darkness and whispers, no more than an unsightly phantom…… But…… Even so…… I wanted to- at the very least, atone…… But I don’t want to die either…… I don’t know- what to do…… Yan Qing: Oh, in that case, you should join together with me. I mean, I came to invite you, anyway. Geronimo: Hm, joining with a phantom? Can you even do that? You’ve retained your individuality up until now, but your sense of self may be affected. Yan Qing: It’s fine, it’ll be fine. I am me. Right, Master?

> If it’s Yan Qing, everything will be okay > I’m a bit worried, but……

Yan Qing: Righto! Doppelganger: I- It’s okay……? For me…… to be with you…… truly……? Yan Qing: Yeah, become my strength. And don’t forget the feeling of being driven mad, starved of justice. If this is happening, be a splendid outlaw. Doppelganger: An outlaw…… Someone with honor and compassion, who opposes kings, who can control themselves…… Even I…… Could be that……

[Doppelganger disappears]

Mash: Doppelganger…… Wasn’t exterminated, instead I confirmed it’s integration into Yan Qing. There is no disturbance concerning the numerical value of his Saint Graph. Yan Qing: So you’re saying everything’s fine? Geronimo: However, this is an exceptional situation. It’s probably best to receive counsel from Da Vinci upon our return. Yan Qing: Yep, yep, roger that! Geronimo: …… …… Because it had no ego, it wrought evil upon Shinjuku― Consequently, possessing a personality, Doppelganger has the potential for good…… It could be said that this is a miracle borne of the instability of the Foundation of Humanity. Then, Master. No matter who forgets, I want you to remember. By being witnessed by you, his despair and struggle become immortal. And in doing so, surely it will be his glory. Yan Qing: Yeah. For believing in me until the end, you have my gratitude, Master. Everything I do, is for the sake of my lord― For your sake, Gudako!

[end]

Notes: * The furigana reads “body” but the main text reads “Saint Graph” and the verb is “whisper” which is a major sort of….. clue, I suppose, as to what’s going on ** Japanese has a lot of words for mind/soul/heart/will with some of them used interchangeably. This particular word could mean either mind or spirit. *** Hoooo boy. Okay so the entire narration here is based off what happens in Water Margin. Basically, Li Junyi - Yan Qing’s lord who saved him (and thus earned his loyalty) - was lured into a trap and poisoned. Doppelganger, who’s sense of self is tenuous at best is overwhelmed by Yan Qing’s memory of it because of Cursed Arm’s sacrifice, and loses it. I have no idea if there was angst in the original text, but here Doppelganger/Yan Qing is torn up because he regards his greatest sin as surviving even though his lord (as well as a lot of the other outlaws) died. **** Here, Doppelganger starts cycling through different ways to say “I” in Japanese (Watashi/Ore/Boku/etc) which is obviously difficult to translate directly into English especially since he doesn’t include any other text in these “personality” shifts. It is a cool thing in the OG text though in a short but effectual way to show Doppelganger’s lack of “self” ***** As always, whenever “outlaw” is mentioned, it’s the chivalrous type that Ya n Qing prides himself on being

#long post #fgo #grand order #my translations

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wildefiction · 5 years

Text

Hunger

WORD COUNT: 1,643

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Reader meets with Adam to discuss her new position and walks away feeling more confused than ever.

CHAPTER WARNINGS: None really

FOUR

The following week, you pulled the door shut behind you and shoved the jagged key into the deadbolt, locking your apartment before walking across the parking lot to your car.

Adam had written back the morning after you'd accepted the position agreeing to meet for lunch. Typing the address he'd included in his correspondence into Google Maps, your eyes flicked to the top right corner of your phone, noting the time. Forty-five minutes. Plenty of time to traverse the city traffic and get to the restaurant without having to rush. You couldn't imagine showing up to such an important meeting out of breath and sweaty - not the best first impression.

Thirty-five minutes later, after sufficiently freaking out at the uncharacteristically heavy traffic, you pulled into one of the last parking spaces in the crowded lot outside the bistro. With a deep breath, you closed your eyes and took a moment to just sit there. Gathering your thoughts, you pushed the door open, a loud squeal of neglected hinges announcing your position to every person in a fifty-yard radius. The sound of locks sliding into place could be heard as you turned from the small car, your sights set on the eatery.

Suddenly ravenous, you pulled open the front door and slipped inside. The quiet din of the other patrons filtered through the small establishment, an intoxicating aroma of fresh bread wafting from the kitchen.

Scanning the room for a moment, and seeing Adam perusing the lunch menu at a nearby table, you let out a steadying breath, straightened your posture and approached the man.

Pulling his gaze from the triple-layered cardstock held in front of him, a wide smile spread across his face when he spotted you.

"Ms. [Y/L/N], pleasure to see you again." Rising from his side of the booth, he extended a hand, which you took, squeezing briefly as he gestured to the other side of the table.

"Please, have a seat - we've got some things to discuss."

Although nervous, you nodded and slowly lowered yourself into the opposite booth, shifting uneasily as you realized just how full this place was.

A tall, thin man approached the table, a thick notepad held in one hand, his pen hovering over the paper as he stared down at you.

"Uh, miss?" Blinking rapidly and turning your face up to the man, you quickly realized he'd been speaking to you.

"Huh?" "Oh, I'm sorry." The fingers clutching your own menu grew pale and your grip tightened, creasing the edges of the paper.

"In….out, in…out." "Just breathe."

"Would you like something to drink?"

*****

Twenty-three minutes later, a generous plate of caprese pasta was placed on the table before you, steam rising from the dish had you closing your eyes in appreciation; drizzled balsamic and fresh basil pesto filling your senses with one of your favorite aromas.

After the initial nervousness had subsided, you found yourself relaxed enough to talk candidly with Adam about his offer.

"So, as I mentioned at the convention, we're not quite sure how to go about this. We've had several staff members vouch for your dedication and work ethic - Derek in particular seems impressed."

"Which"

- the man paused to blow on the food on his fork before shoving the bite in his mouth -

"is a pretty difficult feat in and of itself."

Nodding quietly, you decided now was just as good of a time as any to bring up your biggest concern.

"So in the contract you initially emailed to me, it mentioned that I'd have to relocate to California in order to accept the position. Can I ask why?"

Adam continued chewing his food, though the expression on his face alluded to the idea that he was considering your question.

"I don't actually know, to be honest. Like I said, this is all new for us too. Most of our staff spend their weekdays at the office. Attending meetings, sitting in on scheduling and deciding what events we're planning next, that sort of thing, you know?" It really would be best if you were within easy commuting distance, though I suppose we could try to institute a telecommuting position, since the majority of your duties will basically be equivalent to being Jared's executive assistant."

Adam was rambling now, and you were itching to be done with this lunch. Wanting nothing more than to go home, put on some comfortable clothes and be done with people, you attempted to get the man to give you some solid answers.

In the end, he had cautiously agreed to just seeing how it went with you staying in your current location, with the caveat that, if they decided it was necessary that you be close at hand, you'd be willing to fly down immediately.

Promising a follow-up email with your orientation information and Slacker credentials, the two of you parted ways - Adam on his way into the heart of the city for some sight-seeing, while you were intent on heading directly for home.

Sitting in the warmth of your car, head resting against the steering wheel, your body began to slowly decompress.

Lifting your phone from the seat beside you, your thumb slid across the screen, the brilliant photography of your friend prominently displaying Misha and Rob at one of the European conventions. Green light filtering across the stage, a soft glow enveloped their embrace.

Brows knitting together as you noticed the missed call alert, you were just about to swipe the notification away when the screen lit up once more.

Breath caught in your throat as Jared's face filled the screen, the phone icon pulsing as you stared at it in disbelief. Yes, the two of you had exchanged numbers, but, truthfully, you'd almost forgotten. You hadn't heard from him since that night.

With a shaky sigh, you accepted the call.

"Jared. Hey."

“Hey, [Y/F/N].” A quiet sigh laced with exhaustion greeted you from his side of the conversation. “How’ve you been?��

Despite his tone, as ever, Jared was fully invested in your conversation. The two of you spoke for nearly an hour, and yet, as you said your goodbyes - it felt as if it had been two minutes.

“So, what are you doing this weekend? Any fun plans?” Jared’s breathing was even and deep, in a way that only really surfaced when someone was about to fall asleep.

Glancing at the clock on your dashboard, and, finding it to be only early evening, you questioned whether you were keeping the man awake.

“Jared, when is the last time you slept?” Hastily, you added, “for longer than a couple of hours I mean.” It took him a moment to answer, and when he finally did, it was hardly a coherent thought.

Asking him to repeat himself, you were met instead with soft snores. Pulling the device from your ear, you smiled at the phone before shaking your head and disconnecting the call. Still perplexed that he’d actually called, you drove home to your one-room apartment, walking in to the sound of utter silence. While you were incredibly happy to be as independent as you were, you had to admit that it might be nice to one day come home to someone snoring softly on your couch too.

*****

Several days passed before you heard from him again. Pulling a medium-sized purple suitcase from beneath the bed, you had begun sorting and packing for the upcoming convention in Toronto. I’d be the first time you’d ever visited that part of Canada and you were really looking forward to it.

The rumbling vibration of your phone on the bedside table alerted you to the call. Putting Jared on speaker, you resumed what you’d been doing.

“Hey! What are you up to?” Jared’s voice had an energetic buzz to it that you’d come to realize was his usual demeanor.

Stepping into your closet to grab more clothes, you began to explain that you were packing.

“My flight leaves early on Thursday morning, and I’m really trying to get better at not leaving packing until the last possible second.”

As you flitted about your room, Jared rambled on about how filming had taken to often running fourteen-hour work days, and he’d apologized profusely for falling asleep during your last conversation.

“It’s okay, I just never knew I was THAT boring.” Laughing to yourself and zipping up the suitcase, you lugged the heavy bag off of your bed, walking bow-legged down the narrow hallway to put it beside the front door. When you returned for your phone, you quickly realized that Jared had just kept talking. Deciding it was probably fine that you’d missed a few minutes, you fingered the device illuminated on the soft cotton duvet of your bed, deciding against going back out to the living room and instead, crawling up to lay on the mattress. Reclining against the stack of pillows at your headboard, you suddenly realized that you were on the phone with Jared Padalecki. It was almost surreal. One of the people you had looked up to for so long, and he was chatting away like your guys were old friends.

“I’m so excited to see you this weekend [Y/F/N], it’s been too long.”

Snapping out of the daze you’d fallen into at the thought of being friends with Jared, you weren’t entirely sure you’d heard him correctly. But, then again, maybe you had. While you had started to feel more comfortable around the large man towards the end of the last convention, you were still nervous to see him again. Complete strangers you could handle, crowds weren’t really an issue usually, but knowing how much energy Jared had and how little he worried about trivial things like sleep, the excitement and nerves swirling around your stomach were also home to a healthy dose of sheer terror.

CHAPTER FIVE

TAGS: @arses21434 @jaredsunflowergoddess @seppys-return-to-madness @team-free-will-you-idjits-67 @lilasundari @jamielea81 @wings-of-a-raven

#WildeFiction #Jared x Reader #SPN x RPF #Supernatural Fanfiction #Hunger

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luckyspike · 5 years

Text

Adventures in America, Ch. 10 - Haunted Doll Watch

In which Adam and Lucky have an unexpected encounter with the supernatural, and two more immortal idiots enter the playing field in spite of the ref’s strict no-interference declaration

Start with chapter 1 here (not on AO3 yet!)

Refresh on chapter 9

or check out my fanfic tag for all your fanfic needs

As with most such places, the first several haunted locations Adam and Lucky wandered through the next day, after rolling out of bed at the crack of eleven, were not actually haunted. Adam had a knack for picking up on that kind of thing, in spite of never having seen a ghost, and although he stepped into every place with an open mind and a hopeful heart, for the most part he only found dust and tourist traps. By the fourth stop on the walking tour, he was starting to despair, although Lucky was convinced they’d already encountered about five ghosts, and was trying to explain to Adam why a creaky door on mis-matched hinges meant the old house they’d just left was definitely haunted.

He knew, based on his similar experiences around England, that most places that were purportedly haunted actually weren’t, but still, he’d been hoping America would be different. A part of him - a part of him that was still a kid playing with the Them in Hogback wood - thought maybe after all those gangsters and cowboys had died in this country, a few of them had stuck around.

Still, Lucky was having a good time, and in spite of the disappointing lack of ghosts, Adam was having a good time tagging along behind. Some of the places had free wifi too - after days out in the Great Plains, where cell service was sparse, much less wifi, this was a welcome development that he was taking full advantage of to message his family and friends. Brian had been shocked to hear there wasn’t a tornado in America every day, and once they hit the free wifi at the next haunted house, Adam read through ten more messages with increasingly-dramatic expressions of disbelief. He read them aloud, too, to Lucky and the two of them laughed, before sending the other boy a picture of the awkward-looking wax sculpture in the entryway of a home that declared itself “Actually haunted!”

“Put money on it?” Lucky offered, picking a tri-fold brochure up off of the desk in the entryway. “I bet it’s actually haunted.”

“I’ll give you two dollars if it is,” Adam wagered. “And if not, I get two dollars.”

“Deal.” Lucky looked thoughtful. “How will we know if it’s haunted?”

Adam raised his eyebrows and asked, mildly, “How have we known with any of the other places?”

“... You have a point.” He thought further. “Maybe something more indisputable? Not just creaks but like, an EVP or an apparition or … ?”

“You have something to record EVPs?”

Lucky shrugged and brandished his phone. “Just this. Could be worth a shot.”

Around them, the old house creaked as tourists moved through it, and outside there was the sound of traffic and pedestrians and general city life. The boys exchanged a look. “Could be tough,” Adam said, unnecessarily.

“I still wanna try it.”

“Okay.”

The house was a late-1800s Victorian-inspired monstrosity; a rabbits’ warren of small rooms and narrow hallways strung together in such a way that you really could only see bits and pieces of the house at a time, with the exception of whatever room you happened to be standing in. The furniture, too, was authentic to the period. Aziraphale, Adam thought as he looked around, probably would have loved it. He pulled out his phone and snapped a few pictures, making a mental note that once he’s on wifi, he should send them to Crowley for Aziraphale to look at.

Maybe he could even video call them later, he thought, tapping the back of a chintz wingback chair, before the hideous pattern called to him, and he took a close-up photo of that as well.

“Looking for orbs?” Lucky asked, as he wandered by, looking around the room like he wasn’t sure what to examine first. Which, Adam figured, he probably wasn’t. “Good idea.”

“Oh, yeah. Totally.” And then, to confirm the story, he looked to the phone’s screen and flipped back through the photos he’d just taken. Chintz furniture, glass-front cabinets, and out-of-style curtains, nothing more. No orbs, no shadow people, no ghosts. He told Lucky so, and the other boy sighed.

“Let’s try another room. It’ll be quieter in the basement, maybe we can even get some EVPs down there.”

“Lead the way.”

The did not have better luck in the basement, although had either Adam or Lucky been Foley artists they would probably have been fairly well-pleased with the ‘footsteps crunching in old basement’ recording they managed to get while waiting for some kind of ghostly reply. His enthusiasm waning, Lucky led the way back upstairs, all the way upstairs, to the top floor. Adam poked around in the bedrooms while Lucky explored the maid’s quarters in the attic, theoretically trying to get some EVPs up there while Adam photographed the rooms below for orbs. Neither had much luck, and, discouraged, they re-united in one of the child’s bedrooms.

“I think it’s a bust,” Lucky sighed, obviously disappointed. “Maybe it’s that it’s daylight, you think? Not that we’ll be able to be in any of these places at night, but I wonder if we’d have better luck then, like, when the spirits are more active, maybe?”

“Maybe,” Adam said, sympathetically. “Probably, yeah?” The bed was old, and the quilt covering it looked fairly ancient as well, visible as it was beneath a mass of dolls that looked like they’d been plucked from the nearest antique store with the primary intention of being as unsettling as possible. He picked up his phone to photograph it. “Maybe one of the next few houses? We could stop for lunch, then hit a couple more -”

Lucky made a noise that might have been agreement, and turned to leave. And then both boys froze, because one of the dolls spoke in a tight, squeaky voice. “Antichrist!”

Lucky was the first to recover, mostly because Adam had gone very, very still and very, very pale. He was still and pale even while Lucky shouldered past him, the better to get closer to the bed, and lean in to the dolls. “You heard that, right? You heard it talk?”

“Oh, yeah.” Adam swallowed. “Yep, for sure.” He took a step backwards.

“It said ‘antichrist’ I think.” He looked over the assembled dolls. “Is that right? Which one of you said that?”

When the dolls answered, it was in unison, a heavy buzz coursing through them and coalescing into a word. “Us.”

“Okay, I’m out.” Adam stumbled backwards, his shoulders bumping into the doorframe. He made to spin, to duck out of the room, but the door swung shut in his face and he yelped, scrambling backwards into Lucky, who had frozen in front of the bed, eyes wide, fixed on the dolls. Several of them - not all, which made it more horrifying, somehow - were now hovering a foot or so above the bed.

“Antichrist,” they repeated, in the same awful sound that made Adam’s eardrums tremble. “Antichrist. Beware, Antichrist.” Lucky was backing up, shoving Adam with him, until Adam felt the old door at his back. Not taking his eyes off the dolls, he started to fumble for the knob, even as they continued to speak. “Beware the Duke. Beware the Warrior.”

“I can’t find the doorknob,” Adam whispered to Lucky, frantically. “I can’t find it, I can’t look to -”

“You hear us, kid? Beware!”

Several things happened at once. The dolls, as one, throbbed with a single pulse of hot, orange light, and the room, for a brief second, stank of sulfur and, interestingly, Adam thought distantly, given as he was to unique insider knowledge about the infernal and divine, warm printer paper. A warm breeze blew through the room as well, ruffling the boys’ hair. Instinctively, they both closed their eyes, Lucky with a whimper, until the breeze died down. And then everything grew very still and quiet and Adam, fully expecting to see a demon or an angel, cracked his eyes open a fraction of a millimeter.

The dolls were sitting neatly on the bed as though they had never been disturbed. Sunlight shone through the window, and, if possible, the room looked just a little cleaner, less dusty than it had before.

The door opened at his back.

They didn’t talk as they left the house. Adam just grabbed Lucky’s shirt by the collar and pulled him back, out of the room, until they were in a wider part of the house. Adam looped his arm around the taller boy’s shoulder then, and they walked outside into the daylight, pale and quiet and walking in lock-step.

The old house was near to a little green space, not a park exactly, but just a handful of square feet that was tended and allowed to grow grass and two anemic-looking trees. Optimistically, someone had once set a bench between them. It was vacant now, and Adam and Lucky sat on it, Lucky slouched back, loose-limbed and vacant, while Adam curled forward, elbows on his knees and hands folded in his lap. He stared at the grass, focused.

They didn’t really keep track of time. Some cars drove by, people walked past, and the shadows grew a little longer, though not much. Eventually, Adam sat back, and Lucky sat up straighter and then, with a quiet rustle just audible over the hustle of the city around them, two dollar bills emerged from Adam’s pocket, and found their way into Lucky’s line of sight.

Lucky looked slowly from the bills, to Adam, and, delicately, raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

It felt good to laugh. It wasn’t really a ‘ha-ha-funny’ kind of laugh, more like a laugh that comes when you’ve escaped death, when you’ve skirted around a pit and come sliding onto solid ground on the other side. A laugh that’s just to the up-side of crying, there when the dam breaks and there’s not enough restraint in the world to hold back the bubbling of relief and joy and residual horror. They laughed, and Lucky snatched the dollar bills and tucked them away into his jeans pocket.

“That was,” Lucky said slowly, after they were done laughing and had settled down to breathe together, “super fucked-up.”

“Yep,” Adam agreed, sitting back against the bench and scrubbing his face with his hands. “Yeah, it was.”

“What was all that about the Antichrist?” Lucky frowned, staring into some empty middle-distance. “Antichrist, the Duke, the Warrior …” He waved a hand. “Like, beware the Antichrist is a pretty solid piece of advice, but it was more like, like …” He made a face and cocked his head. “Like the ghost was warning the Antichrist to beware, instead of the other way around. Beware of the Duke, and the Warrior.” He shook his head. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“No,” Adam lied. He shifted on the bench, uncomfortable and quiet. “No, it wouldn’t. Antichrist is supposed to be the biggest bad guy around, right?”

“Yeah. So why would he need a warning?” He put his head to the side again, another thought occurring to him. “And also, why would they warn us?”

Adam forced a laugh. “Beats me.” He looked at his phone - extended network, no wifi. He wondered how soon they could get somewhere with wifi so he could call someone, Crowley, yeah, and Aziraphale, he needed to call them in the worst way, but he didn’t have service, couldn’t talk to them about all this in front of Lucky right now -

“Maybe it’s referencing tarot,” Lucky murmured. “Are there warrior and duke cards in tarot? The Antichrist would be The Devil …”

“Don’t think there’s a duke or a warrior,” Adam said, knowing full well that this was the case. He’d never really been interested in tarot, but Anathema was adept at it, and he’d hung around her enough to pick up on the basics. “Nothing really makes sense in tarot for those.”

“Guess not.” He stood, and stretched, and then hunched back down, hands in his pockets. “Think I’ve had my fill of haunted houses for today, what about you?”

Adam raised his eyebrows and looked up to Lucky. “If you were looking for proof ghosts exist, I think you found it, huh? Don’t really need to go wading around looking for more.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I got … well, more than I wanted, honestly.” He sighed, and whatever slouch he could still muster up came out. “I could go for some barbecue. You?”

“Yeah.” He stood up, following Lucky through the city - they very definitely skirted the haunted house, staying clear on the other side of the block - toward a place that Google assured them was a very well-reviewed barbecue spot. “You don’t think it’ll follow us, do you?” Adam asked. It had been bothering him, and he found himself glancing around, looking for a warrior, or a duke, or an angel or a demon. He frowned, and his fingers brushed the edges of his phone in his pocket.

“It probably can’t.” Lucky forced a little wry laugh. “I mean, okay, not like I’m an expert on ghosts or anything, but if a ghost has been in the same place for like, a hundred years, it probably can’t leave.” He rubbed his eye. “Man, I have a headache. Did that all really happen? I didn’t … maybe I was just hungry.”

“Oh, no, no, it really happened. Definitely happened.”

“And then it said ‘kid’, right? What was that about?” He spread his hands. “All that ‘beware’ and cryptic stuff like you expect from ghosts, like in the movies, right, and then ‘you hear us, kid’. Like, what was that about? Weirdly personal.”

“Very weird,” Adam agreed. Indeed, though the entire brief event had been terrifying, and all the stuff at the beginning that did sound like it came straight out of a movie chilled him, the most frightening part had been at the end. Because the voice had sounded … weirdly familiar, under the warping of the dolls and the buzz of whatever energy the thing had been drawing on to speak. He couldn’t place it, but he’d heard it before, or at least he thought he had, but then again at its core it was just a man’s voice, with an American accent, and certainly that wasn’t that rare.

“You know,” Lucky said, as they turned a corner and the strong scent of barbecue hit them both square in the face. Adam, lost in his thoughts though he was, started salivating. “You know it’s super weird, my nanny -”

“The Satanist?”

“Yeah, her. She used to call me ‘the little Antichrist’. Plus other weird stuff, Hellspawn, little demon, you know. Pet names but like, from a Satanist.You think it knew?”

Adam blinked. “Um, weird.”

“And she’d go on about like, me rising up and commanding the legions of Hell or whatever, but I figured she was just being motivational? In a weird way.” He snorted. “Listen, I know I make her sound crazy when I talk about her, and she was kind of crazy - okay, yeah, really crazy - but like she was actually really nice? But either way, for the ghost to -”

“What’d she look like?” Adam jogged around to face Lucky and stopped, blue eyes fixed on the other boy’s dark brown ones. “Sorry, I know, weird question, but what’d she look like? I swear this is relevant.”

Lucky looked confused. “Uh, I … how’s this relevant?” Adam didn’t answer, and he shrugged. “Uh, I dunno. Tall, always wore black, always wore sunglasses, Scottish -”

“Red hair?”

“Yeah. How’d you know that?”

Adam looked down, tapped a few things on his phone, and then turned the screen to the other boy. Lucky’s mouth dropped open. “Familiar?”

“I didn’t …” He looked at the picture, which showed Adam maybe a few years younger, smiling, holding the camera for the photo at arm’s length, and a woman with dark hair and round glasses holding up three tickets to a movie or something, and, most importantly, a man all in black, with red hair and dark glasses, who looked like he was trying very hard to be serious, failing miserably, and also flashing a sign of the horns behind Adam’s head. “I never knew Nanny had a brother,” Lucky concluded, finally, taking the phone and studying the photo.

“Don’t think she does. Here.” He pulled the phone back, flipped through a few more photos, and then displayed another one for Lucky. “How about that guy? Is he familiar? Like the gardener, maybe?”

This one showed a gathering on a beach, although it was definitely British because beach or no, everyone had jackets on. There were other kids in this one, trying gamely to start a fire by the looks of it, and there was the woman with the round glasses again, sitting in the sand and leaned up comfortably against a dark-haired man, also in glasses. And there, toward the edge of the picture, was the man that could have been Nanny’s twin brother, still all in black and wearing sunglasses, a thermos in one hand and his other linked with another man, white-blond and all in shades of dun. Lucky angled for a better look - Adam was clearly indicating the blonde man with Nanny’s brother - and then frowned and shook his head back and forth. “Nah, Brother Frances was way older. Same hair color, though.” He shook his head. “So weird, he could be Nanny’s twin.”

“I think he is Nanny, Lucky.” Adam grabbed the phone back one more time, flipped through a few more photos, and settled on one. “Did your Nanny drive a big, black, really old car?”

He looked perturbed. “I … don’t remember? I was little, but Nanny …” He looked at the picture that Adam held up then, of an old, black car, the blonde man leaning over the hood and pointing toward a map, scowling at the other one - Nanny, Nanny’s twin brother, whatever - gesturing in clear frustration toward something outside of the shot.

But it was the car. The car growled in the back of Lucky’s memory, deep in the recesses of his hippocampus, and suddenly he was six years old and sitting on the wide bench seat, Nanny driving while Queen - she always listened to Queen, how did he forget that? - was blasting through speakers that Lucky never really saw. She always let him have a pain au chocolate in the morning when she would take him with her into London, “for being so infernally well-behaved and gluing those coins down so securely”, and every time when they drove home she would tell him, “Now, mind the crumbs, little devil, or no biscuits in bed tonight.” And sometimes, on occasion, she would smile, and tap him on the nose, never taking her eyes off the road.

It was the car.

“Oh, my God.” He looked up to Adam. “Who - how do you know her - him? Who are they?”

“He’s my godfather. Sort of.” Adam sighed, and looked from Lucky, into the street, his expression absolutely wretched. “I think we ought to talk about some stuff. I’ll buy the barbecue.”

The boys, slowly, stepped into the barbecue restaurant. Across the street, perched on the low stone wall fronting a bank building, two figures watched them. One was dressed all in gray, a light linen suit in deference to the heat, his hands tucked into his coat pockets. The other was in black head-to-toe, save for a sheer red scarf draped around their shoulders and a red knit beanie. The black-clad figure was eating an ice cream cone.

“Do you think,” the gray-clad figure asked, after the door swung closed behind the boys, “we did the right thing?”

“Self-reflection, from you?” the shorter one drawled. Their tongue - black as tar - licked at the ice cream cone. Had a casual observer paused to take notice, they would have noted that the little black sprinkles all over the cone were not actually sprinkles and were, in fact, flies. A few flew off. “Heat’s getting to you, Gabe.”

Gabriel frowned, and stuck his feet out, making a show of studying his shoes. “Raziel did say we weren’t to interfere. But then Sandalphon said he talked to Metatron -”

“Ugh, spare me.” The short one rolled their eyes. “Falling wasn’t enough, you have to keep talking about Sandalphon? My torture will last for eternity.”

“He said,” Gabriel went on, “that, you know, the Great Plan just had a little hiccup, we need to go forward, and Metatron talks to God, and Sandalphon is his twin, so …”

“You never considered that Sandalphon might have lied? The great smiter? He really loves smiting.”

Gabriel scoffed. “Of course I did, Beelz, why did you think I called you? But Raziel said no interference, and if anyone’s still in touch with Her, it’s him. So maybe we really shouldn’t have.”

Beelzebub licked the ice cream again, chasing a melting rivulet down the outside of the cone. “We’re barely interfering. All we did was make some dolls spooky and tell the kiddo to watch his back. End of story.”

“I don’t know.” He sighed. “It’s definitely something, though. What’s to say -”

“For an archangel you sure do doubt a lot,” Beelzebub pointed out. “Watch you don’t trip. It’s quite a fall.”

Gabriel scowled at zir. “I don’t doubt Her,” he snapped, defensive. “But, you know, the Great Plan all turned out to be what? A joke? Or just the end of the first installment? She’s playing a game, Crowley was right, but I want to do my part, help out, do the right thing, but -”

Beelzebub smirked up at him, mocking. “What a good little angel you are.” Ze licked the ice cream again, and smiled serenely as the flies scattered. “For my money, Crowley and Aziraphale had it right all along: the whole thing’s fucking ineffable, and we can just sing along as we go.” Ze sighed, slouched back on a braced arm, and studied the remains of the cone, covered as it was in flies. “Either way, fuck it, right? Whatever keeps me from having to organize everybody again. Ugh.” Ze licked zir ice cream. “What a nightmare.”

“Hm.” A thought occurred to him. “You sing?”

“Not literally, no. Don’t be stupid. Demons don’t sing. Might as well ask you if you dance.”

“You dance?”

“Not with you.”

“Hm.” Gabriel studied his shoes again, and leaned back as well, his elbows propped on the wall as he scowled at his feet. “I don’t like these shoes.”

“Get a new pair, then.” Beelzebub considered the shoes, and then, delicately, smushed zir ice cream cone onto Gabriel’s left toe. “Now you have to.”

Gabriel flicked the cone off, irritated but not angry. “You didn’t have to do that, now my sock’s going to be sticky.”

“Make it miraculously not sticky.”

“I’ll know it was sticky. It’s sticky on a spiritual level.”

“Life is suffering, Gabe.” Ze sighed, a deep, soulful sigh that seemed to bubble up from the pits of Hell, carrying with it all the boredom, despair, and frustration of middle-management. “Speaking of, I should get back to work. When the boss is away …”

“The ducks will play,” Gabriel finished, solemnly. Beelzebub stared at him for a minute.

“That’s not how that phrase goes. Not at all.”

“I could never get the hang of mortal phrases.” He heaved a sigh, a more ethereal match to Beelzebub’s, warm and worried and, yes, filled with the frustration of middle-management. “You think we should do a little more? We’ve already done this much -”

Beelzebub raised an eyebrow. “In for a penny, eh?” Ze hopped off the wall, and brushed zir jacket sleeves off. “I’m against it.”

“Why?”

The look the Prince of Hell gave Gabriel could have best been described as ‘withering’, although that would not have done it justice. Considering Beelzebub’s astonishing power, crammed as it was into a five-foot-nothing human corporation, there had to be somewhere for the excess energy to vent out. Gabriel had often figured that the vent of choice was condescending facial expressions. “It’s one thing to skirt the rules of whatever Her plan is,” Beelzebub said slowly, as if speaking to a particularly stupid child, “but it’s quite another to go directly against it. Trust me. I speak from experience.” Ze waved a hand. “We did our part, gave the kid a heads-up, now we’re out. No interference.”

Gabriel made a face. “Aziraphale and Crowley did it and they’re … not … whatever they are.”

“They went against the Great Plan, which clearly was different than the Ineffable Plan. Did you talk to Raziel about Armageddon beforehand?”

“Not really. Didn’t think there was a need to, since it was written,” he intoned, a little bitterly. “Wonder what he’d actually had written for all that.”

“You’ll probably never know.” Beelzebub took a step away from Gabriel. “Keep me posted.”

“Will do.”

“Have fun with your sock.”

“I won’t,” he replied, annoyed. He’d been trying not to think about it. “Damn you.”

Beelzebub shot him a very small, nearly imperceptible, smile over zir shoulder. “Already checked off the list, Gabe. See you Sunday. Bring your notes.”

“Yeah, alright.” He watched the Prince go, and then glared at his sock, until it realized the error in its ways and stopped, on the physical level, being sticky.

It still felt sticky anyway.

---

Now with Chapter 11!

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #good omens fanfic #the one where they go to america #i wish i didn't enjoy fanfiction so much #adam young #warlock dowling #beelzebub #gabriel

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writing-royza · 5 years

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Tainted Blood, Tainted Soul: Chapter Twenty-one - Hidden Danger

A/N: Happy Sunday, everyone! I hope you all had a good week. Not much going on, so I’ll just leave you with Chapter Twenty-one. Enjoy! I do not own FMA.

Chapter Twenty-one - Hidden Danger

UNINHABITED SECTOR, CITY OF JADAD, ISHVAL

1323 HOURS, APRIL 23RD

The search didn't get underway until afternoon, just after a hasty midday meal. With the stress and distraction of the last day or so, Roy hadn't been interested in any kind of regular meals, and so hadn't much noticed the food in front of him when he did eat.

Ishvalan food, he was coming to realize, was as no-frills and hearty as the people, with an exotic flavour and a heat that lingered pleasantly on the tongue. Whatever spices went into the good, simple food, he would have to find out; he was no great shakes at cooking, but perhaps he and Riza could make a study of it together….

Of course, he had to find her first, and get her back to her old self.

And so, he set off alongside Scar into the bright sun of early afternoon, carrying a scaled-down copy of the city map on the Reconstruction office wall, with three locations to be scouted circled in red. At last, there was something to do, some affirmative action to be taken, rather than planning or waiting to be instructed.

"Scar," he began, his eyes on the dust-swept street ahead, "I want to thank you." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the larger man look his way, and pressed on. "That you're going to these lengths to help an Amestrian soldier, one who took part in the civil war…. You didn't have to get involved like this. I appreciate it."

The other was quiet for a moment, then said, "It isn't the first time I've done so. Or the first time I've been thanked for it."

Roy lifted an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"I didn't have to help stop you from destroying the Homonculus Envy out of vengeance," he pointed out. "But as I told Edward Elric, I know what vengeance does to a man, and I knew your skills would be needed elsewhere. Such as here."

When Roy looked over, somewhat shamefaced at the reminder, he was surprised to find the corner of Scar's mouth pulled back in the smallest of imaginable smiles. "You were too busy bickering with the Elric boy to hear, but your Lieutenant thanked me. For stopping you. And so, out of courtesy to her and for the safety of my own people… I am here."

He stopped me from acting in anger, and she thanked him, Roy mused to himself. And if we find her first, he'll help stop her from giving in to this thing that's taken her over. And I'll thank him, bowing at his feet if I have to.

The first location they were set to check was a seminary students' residence overlooking a broad courtyard. Roy glanced around at the once-impressive architecture, now fallen into disrepair. Stone benches sat beside shallow depressions that had once been small pools, and the few shade trees that had once been so carefully cultured and tended were now bare, bone-dry, and shrivelled-looking.

He could picture the students walking here, talking over their lives or their studies, studying quietly in the shade or while dabbling bare feet in the pools. This had once been a place of peace, of contemplation and learning. All things that Riza herself valued…. But then she had no way of knowing what this place was, aside from matching the things he thought she would look for in a place to hide.

The double front doors of the seminary were slightly off-kilter, the right one hanging at a slight angle to create a gap. Scar pulled it open slowly, a fraction at a time to prevent any telltale squeaking or grating of hinges. A scattering of dust was spread over the floor, blown through the gap by any wind from the right angle.

Scar opened the door just wide enough to slip his burly frame through; without a word, Roy followed him inside, only to be stopped by the big man's hand bumping gently against his chest.

"Wait here." He glanced back over his shoulder. "You are lighter, but I move more quietly."

He couldn't argue with that, but it didn't stop him from trailing silently along the wall, his eyes travelling up to the vaulted ceiling of the foyer. The architecture was spare, made of the same dun-coloured sandstone with what appeared to be Ishvalan sigils carved around the perimeter at knee height. But where Amestrian design might have placed a glass dome on the roof or tall panes of glass in the building face as windows… there were none.

A wide set of stairs across from the doors spiraled up to a balcony overlooking the entryway, and it was in this direction that Scar headed. He walked stealthily, bent slightly at the waist, his steps rolling from one foot to the other in soundless motion. Keeping his eyes roving over the balcony above, he started up the stairs, keeping close to the wall. Roy tried not to notice that the man's right hand – the destruction hand – was held ready to flex and unleash its power.

But Scar reached the top of the stairs with no incident, and disappeared briefly from view, presumably to check potential hiding spots not visible from the ground floor. Roy held his breath, listening for the sounds of a sudden scuffle or the thud of a heavy male body hitting the floor…. Silence.

Reappearing at the dusty balcony rail, Scar beckoned him wordlessly.

"Searching the dormitories will go more quickly if we split up," he murmured, the low timbre of his voice echoing faintly in the open space. He pointed off down a hallway to Roy's left. "Open every door, look in every room. If you come across one that's locked…."

He glanced pointedly at Roy's hands, his meaning obvious.

Yet Roy hesitated. "I've been trying not to use alchemy since I arrived," he murmured back. "You're sure it won't be some kind of… offense?"

Scar shook his head, already turning toward a second hallway in another direction. "With the rest of my people, yes, but not with me, Colonel. I understand that desperate times call for desperate measures."

And if there were ever desperate times….

Starting off along his allotted hallway, Roy zigzagged slowly left to right, opening first one door, then the next, then the next… The first room was filled with dusty, battered-looking sleeping pallets. When this place was in its heyday, they had likely been very comfortable and well-kept, but the several years of neglect had done their sinister work.

The second room proved to be a bathroom done in clay tile with pewter fixtures. Time and disuse had dulled the metal and discoloured the ceramic sinks, and a pipe leak had caused an anomaly: algae appeared to be growing on the wall under the sink closest to the door. A quick check of the stalls, and then Roy returned to the hallway.

The third door was locked.

Gritting his teeth, Roy took a deep breath. A locked door in an abandoned place like this could mean two things: either something valuable or dangerous… or Riza. Clapping his hands together, careful to do it quietly, he touched gently probing fingers to the doorknob.

The potential pathways for the energy sprang to life in his mind, showing him the shape of the metal and how it could be manipulated. Roy focussed on the locking mechanism. No way to really pick it with alchemy like this; it was too fine-tuned a task. He settled for simply destroying it, leaving the knob to turn freely.

Bracing himself, he swung the door wide, ready to dive out of the way if an attack came toward him… and was surprised to discover a room with four two-person tables, a desk at the far end, and shelves of books lining the walls.

A study hall, he realized with a mild jolt. He should have expected to find a place such as this; it was at least affiliated with a school of some type. Students needed suitable spaces to do their assignments… and this space reminded him of the small personal library where he had spent so much time of his own studies. He was a stranger in a strange place and yet he could still find things to remind him of her.

DERELICT BUILDING, CITY OF JADAD, ISHVAL

1503 HOURS, APRIL 23RD

She was fading in and out of a light doze when she first became aware of the faint voices from outside. Riza's newly over-sensitive ears pricked, her eyes opening to the almost complete blackness of the room as she listened. Weariness tugged at her, not so strongly as if she were in sunlight, but reminding her gently that this was the time for sleep.

When the voices sounded again, slightly louder this time, she pushed aside her fatigue and rose.

The room she had chosen to hide in was on the second floor of a building that had once been some sort of inn. Each room opened on to a walkway, with one walkway wrapping around the outside of the building and another bisecting each floor to lead to the central stairwell. Her windowless room led off this centre hall, where the light of day did not reach so easily. It was nothing more than a linen storage closet, but with one shelf cleared except for a spread-out sheet and a pillow, it was comfortable enough.

The voices were still advancing, but distant enough to suggest that their owners were in the street, not within the building itself. However, sound carried well in these corridors, bouncing from one surface to another, meaning they could be closer than she thought. Her bare feet making no noise on the stone floor, Riza eased toward the door, pressing her ear to the wood.

Two men spoke in Ishvalan, their tones conversational and businesslike by turns. Judging by cadence alone, she suspected them to be warriors, possibly out searching for her. Their likely thought was that a deserted inn would be an incredibly convenient place for a fugitive – four walls and a roof, probably a bed, some kind of plumbing. She could only hope they wouldn't think to check the linen closet.

A part of her knew that she didn't need to kill anyone that happened across her; she had strength now to subdue most attackers instead of ending them outright. But another part – a stronger, much larger part – also knew that anyone who crossed her path was fair game for the hunger coiling in her stomach. If she gave in to that, if she sank her sharpened canine teeth into someone's throat and drank the blood that spilled out… she might not be able to stop herself from taking too much. And if that person happened to be a friend –

The voices were receding in volume, their owners moving away from the building, and Riza turned away from the door. Settling back into the little bunk she had fashioned, she stared up at the underside of the shelf above her and tried to calm her unsteady thoughts. Her mind threw images at her, first of Roy smiling his fond smile at her, and then those dark eyes filling with surprise as she sank her teeth into his neck.

Closing her eyes tightly, she willed the images away… but they came creeping back. Different views of Roy came to her – peacefully asleep in a bed beside her, his naked body over hers, his grin wide at some joke – but always with the same ending. Shock, pain, and betrayal as she gave in to the hunger and bit him.

And Riza knew, somewhere deep in the back of her mind, that would be the fastest way to make him hers.

MARKETPLACE, CITY OF JADAD, ISHVAL

1614 HOURS, APRIL 23RD

It was a hot and dusty group that gathered in the deserted marketplace at the end of the search. They trickled in in pairs, gathering around the large well in the centre. Though it was old, it had been dug deep enough that the water remained cold, clear, and fresh. Ramshackle structures that had once been vendors stalls circled outward from this central point, bare and deserted now, but still offering a bit of shade for the weary search party.

Roy sat on the edge of what had once been a table for displaying someone's wares, sweat cooling on his forehead and the back of his neck tingling with the beginnings of a sunburn. Dark eyes watched the rest of the searchers getting drinks from the well's sturdy wooden bucket, speaking quietly with each other, and dispersing to find their own pieces of shade while they waited for further instruction.

"I suppose we'll have to revisit the list of possible places," he said aloud to the man sitting beside him. "We must have narrowed it down too far and missed her."

Scar nodded, his back straight, hands resting in his lap and eyes closed in momentary meditation. "We will wait to hear the others' reports, and then make our decision."

As soon as the last pair of searchers had reached the marketplace and quenched their thirst from the well, Scar rose from his seat and moved into the centre of the group. He raised his voice to be heard, speaking in Ishvalan. Roy shifted, his heart sinking as realized they would be delayed even farther if Scar had to spend time after the briefing filling him in on everything….

"He's thanking everyone for their help in looking for the Lieutenant," a young man said from his left. He had slipped around to Roy's spot, leaving his own partner. "And asking if anyone found anything of interest, whether it relates to her or not."

Partway across the group, a man's hand rose, and after he received a nod of acknowledgement, he began speaking, his hands moving as he spoke.

"He says the came across her footprints at one point," the young man interpreted. "About two hundred metres from the amphitheatre where she was last seen. They know no one has come out this way yet, and certainly not barefoot as she was. They followed them briefly for perhaps five or ten minutes, until they turned down an alley." He frowned. "It was a dead end; a wall reached about ten feet into the air, and her tracks just… disappeared. They entered the alley but did not come back out."

A ten-foot wall and disappearing footprints…. Roy supposed that in this new state of hers, it wouldn't be overly difficult for her to scale such an obstruction. Even before, with her military training and time spent on obstacle courses, it would only have presented a difficult challenge, not an impossibility.

The interpreter was still speaking quietly, his voice overlapping those of Scar and the reporting searcher. "The banam manav asks what sort of buildings the footsteps ended near, so that they might be targeted for searching later…. The searcher says there were some houses, a few shops… and a… do you call it a 'house for bathing?'"

"A bathhouse," Roy supplied, frowning slightly. "What was you called him – the man in the centre?"

The other smiled, sadly. "To you and to others outside our borders, he is known as Scar, yes? For the mark on his face?" Roy nodded. "Names are sacred to the Ishvalan people, Colonel. The man you call Scar cast his name away and so can have no other. Our people call him banam manav – the 'nameless human.'"

Roy raised an eyebrow. "I see. And what's your name?"

Dipping his head in a brief, introductory bow, the man smiled. "I am Wajed, Colonel, and pleased to meet you." He gestured to another man nearby. "But there is more news."

A man had gotten to his feet, crossing toward Scar with something held in his fingers. Scar took it, turning it over and examining it, before holding it up in Roy's direction but speaking to the group at large.

"It is a piece of cloth torn from the Lieutenant's clothes," Wajed translated. "They are confident it is hers because it appears undamaged by exposure. It was found near where the other man found the footprints in the alley, stuck on a nail sticking out of a board beside a storehouse." His eyes lit as Scar asked a question. "Storehouses have no windows, to keep out damaging sunlight, so she may have– oh."

Roy felt his own rising hopes fade as the light disappeared from the young man's eyes. "The storehouse was on their list of places to search, but they did not find her there."

Taking a deep breath, reminding himself not to give up so easily – because Riza certainly wouldn't – Roy sat straight and listened attentively to the reports' translations. There were two more sightings of footprints, each one slightly farther east than the last, but nothing more.

Finally, Scar motioned Roy forward, making one last comment as he did. "He wants you to say a few words," Wajed murmured, before turning and heading back to his search partner. Roy felt his stomach flip in sudden nervousness, but managed to keep it off of his face as he slipped from his seat in the table and emerged into the sunlit open space.

Eighteen solemn faces looked back at him, some with curiosity but others with straight-faced neutrality. A feeling of vague unease settled into the pit of his stomach, but aside from that, he paid it no mind. He drew himself up to his full height, and began.

"First of all, I'm sorry I can't give you my thanks in your own language. You certainly deserve it for all you've done. That being said, it's important to me that you know I'm grateful for your help." Roy kept his smile small – thankful but not an overt showing of emotion. "Myself and my Lieutenant are visitors to your lands, and to have such support in looking for her is comforting. We may not have found her today, but I'm confident that we will tomorrow."

He waited as Scar finished translating for those who could not understand the Amestrian words, his eyes scanning the group. There were a few understanding smiles, but his message seemed to have been received favourably.

An instant later, he was wondering if he had been too quick in that assessment. A prickle began at the back of his neck and he had to consciously keep tension from lifting his shoulders, his gaze turning more alert as it swept over the group once again. This feeling, one he had had several times before, he had always associated with unfriendly eyes upon him. Rival officers, Homonculi… and now perhaps something more sinister.

The sentiment was confirmed as the group of men broke into a smattering of polite applause, every face holding some degree of a smile. The feeling remained; it wasn't from one of them. And as Roy stood, listening to the response to his words, a sinking realization came trickling in.

Forcing steadiness into his movements, he turned to where Scar stood at his left shoulder, keeping his voice somewhere around a murmur. "We were looking for an open space with significance," he said, not quite urgently. "One with tall buildings nearby without too many windows where she could keep watch. This place was searched?"

Scar was almost instantly on the alert, though it showed only in the red eyes and the near-perfect stillness of his body. "Several of the buildings around it were," he answered. He gave Roy a critical look, assessing. "What is it?"

"Just a feeling. A bad one." He glanced back at the group, now beginning to murmur among themselves when it was clear their leaders were in private conference. "Look, we were due to start back toward the settled area soon. We'll go a block or so, and then I'll circle back and see if there was something the searchers missed."

The larger man shook his head. "That's a high risk for potentially very little payoff. And suppose you do find her? What then?" His gaze turned hard. "Colonel, this new personality she's gained has made it very clear how little regard she has for the lives of others. Even yours."

Roy's glare was equally firm. "I never said I was planning to try and speak to her. I just want to know where she is so that we can form a plan to bring her back in."

Scar had seen the lie and Roy knew it, but there was nothing for it now. Red eyes glanced up at the group, then back to him. "Very well. We will beginning leaving… but when you break off to circle back, I will come with you." He took a pair of steps forward, preparing to address the search party, his final words on the subject tossed back over his shoulder. "You need a bodyguard from your bodyguard, Colonel."

She was growing restless in the dark. Snatches of voices still floated occasionally to her, and each time, they woke her. Finally, Riza slipped from her shelf-bunk and began pacing the small space, trying to work the shivery feeling from her legs. It was a feeling that begged her to let them run, to let them be stretched, to burn off the energy building slowly in her muscles before it drove her crazy.

Soon, she reminded herself, taking a deep breath. Soon the sun will be down, soon you can go outside, and soon – The hunger shifted in her stomach, reaching achingly up to tighten her throat. – you can find something to keep from starving to death.

Soon, too, her visitor would arrive in the city. There was still a faint pressure in her mind, so delicate that she had to concentrate to feel it, but it was only the daylight weakening the mystical connection. When it grew stronger again, she would know for certain it was safe to leave her little hideaway.

Looking around at her surroundings, Riza came to the decision that, if there were going to be two of them in proximity, they were going to need something more spacious than a closet. Perhaps that storehouse she had passed up the night before? She had discounted it then because it was so obvious, but this long after the fact, she was relatively sure they would have already searched such a space and others like it. It should be safe enough now.

She had just begun mentally plotting the route back to the storehouse when a new voice spoke up outside. Her head came up, swivelling toward the door, enhanced hearing straining to catch each word and be sure…. Yes. Yes, it was definitely him.

Her smile widened. Of course he had joined the hunt for her himself. Why wouldn't he? If there was one man who knew the mind of Riza Hawkeye, it was him, and he would be only too quick to offer his knowledge of her. Or, well… his intellectual knowledge. The carnal, he would keep to himself.

Still grinning broadly at her own little joke, she moved to the door, reaching for the time-tarnished brass knob… and hesitated. No, there was still sunlight out there. Even in the shade of the hallway, she would be weakened even farther than she already was. Light of any kind on her body would drain her quickly, and her strength might not return until nightfall. If she were spotted and had to run, her chances would not be good.

After only a second more of internal debate, she opened the door wide.

Her breath caught as she stepped into the dim shadows of the hall, feeling fatigue creeping up her arms and threatening to buckle her knees. She forced herself to inhale the warm, still air, forced her feet forward toward the sound of that familiar voice, one hand on the wall to aid her fickle balance. It hadn't been this bad the day before, walking to the amphitheatre for the ill-fated yantir, but then again, the sun had also been on its way down at the time.

She reached the edge of the hall, where it opened onto the mezzanine leading to other rooms and the wide space of the marketplace beyond and below. Leaning against the wall, shading her eyes against the sun's glare, she stood just inside the shade where the hated beams could not reach her.

There was a group of about twenty people in the market below, all men, most wearing the robes and shoulder sash of the priesthood. In the centre, side-on to her as they faced the others, were Scar and Roy, who had, by all appearances, just finished speaking. Scar was translating, the foreign words flowing easily off of his tongue. The group seemed tired after their fruitless search… but not dispirited. Riza pursed her lips in mild annoyance. That was bad news for her; if they felt defeated in their efforts, they were less likely to try again.

She was still watching, her eyes on the back of Roy's head, when she saw him catch on.

Freezing instantly, she watching his head move slowly from one side to the other, scanning the group before turning to speak quietly to Scar. Moving with agonizing slowness, Riza shifted to a crouch, putting the wrought iron of the mezzanine railing between them. It wasn't perfect shelter, but it would at least hopefully confuse the weaker human eyes and prevent detection.

There were a few brief seconds of murmured discussion, and then Scar stepped forward again. One brief comment over his shoulder, and then he was giving orders. Riza dropped flat to her stomach on the dusty floor of the hallway, the familiar prone position of a sniper but minus the weaponry.

With her eyes level with the far edge of the mezzanine, all that was visible of Roy was his head and shoulders. Still watchful, he looked slowly around the entire area, his gaze lighting for a brief moment on the second floor of the inn and the dim inner hallway.

Riza's breath caught for a second time at the sight of those dark eyes. Intelligence, suspicion, and tactical savvy were all there, even at this distance, underlined by the set of his jaw as the stare moved onward, the man himself stepping slowly toward the rest of the search party. Leaving her unseen.

The tip of her tongue darted out to moisten suddenly dry lips, in time with a sudden urgent clench in the pit of her stomach. She wanted those eyes on her again, wanted her fingers in the messy tousle of dark hair, wanted his lips on hers and everywhere else. Heat blossomed in her cheeks and behind her ears, slithering down the back of her neck to her spine. Forget wanting his eyes, his hair, his lips… she just wanted him.

How long had it been now? How long since that last, lascivious tumble in the back of the supply truck? Two days, three… she didn't quite know anymore. Strange how conversion to a new, better form had the effect of messing with a person's internal clock.

Carefully, with patient slowness, she began wriggling backward, deeper into the hallway. The motion stirred the wanting ache in her, making its stoked flame flare a little brighter for a brief moment before she wrestled it back under control. She would return to her hiding place, calm herself, and keep a lookout for anyone else that came searching, whether it was the party below, the stranger still slowly approaching from the north side of the city, or Roy himself.

And if it was Roy…. Well, if he was willing and she played her cards right, there was no real reason why that little wanting ache should have to go unsatisfied.

Even if, in the process, his neck fell victim to her fangs.

The search party wound through the deserted streets of the disrepaired city in two parallel lines. Roy stayed toward the back, watching Scar at the front of the column for their chance to break away and double back. The prickle on the back of his neck had faded as they left the marketplace, but the sense of unease that accompanied it had settled persistently between his shoulder blades.

In the initial search, there had only been four buildings around the marketplace's perimeter marked as possible, and the men who had swept them hadn't found any sign of Riza. She was good, Roy knew, but even she wasn't flawless at covering her tracks in an unfamiliar environment. There would have been something. Going on his memory alone, there were at least three other buildings of note around the marketplace square… but how many of them would be suitable for a newly turned vampire?

The last thought rocked him mentally for a moment, the word 'vampire' echoing around in his mind. He still had trouble reconciling what was supposed to be a fantasy term, a fictional creature, with the woman he'd known for years. With the woman he loved… even if she wasn't exactly the same woman anymore.

It was comforting — how ever slightly — to know that vampire lore always spoke of ways to reverse the… the curse, he supposed. Granted, several of them involved the suspected vampire already being dead and in a grave, but there was exactly one he knew of that should reverse the effect. If Riza hadn't been dead when she was finally turned, and not enough time had elapsed for her natural life to be over, then —

Motion ahead broke his train of thought; Scar turning to speak to Wajed, who was following just behind him, and then stepping aside to let the column pass. He spoke in Ishvalan to the group, but from the waving gesture he gave, it was clear he was ordering them to follow after the new leader.

Roy stopped where he was, waiting as the larger man made his way back to him, his face serious. "Should we circle around to the other side of the marketplace? Come at it from a different direction?"

Scar glanced skyward, judging the height of the sun. "Sunset will be beginning in an hour and a half," he commented. "We would be losing time that could be spent searching." He started back the way they had come. "We will use the same avenue, but we will be cautious. Stealthy."

They retraced their steps, covering the distance in roughly five minutes and in relative silence but for Scar's murmured directions. Nervousness began to flutter in Roy's stomach, at what they would find or, potentially, the lack thereof. He was willing to admit, if it came down to it, that recent events had him feeling overly suspicious and on edge… but he knew the sensation that had caught his attention in the square. He had spent six months with that feeling, worried that Selim was watching his every move.

The only good thing the Homonculi, Bradley, or their Father had ever given him: a good healthy sense for when he was being watched.

The shadows were stretching long in the sun from the two and three-storey buildings around the edge of the market square, silence laying thick and heavy on the air. Roy suppressed a shudder; total silence in an urban environment was far creepier than he had anticipated it would be.

They slipped into the shadowed overhang of a colonnade to one side of the square, both of them eyeing the buildings. Scar was the first to speak. "Where shall we start?"

Frowning in thought, Roy crouched, the better to see the buildings past the overhang. "I know I said that any building with too many windows should be counted out… but I'm not sure that method will work. I know I felt something when we were here before, but I couldn't tell where she might have been watching from and I didn't see anything."

"Yet you know it was her. Watching." Scar nodded in understanding. "A good instinct. But you did not answer my question."

Standing straight, Roy tilted his head toward the door closest on their right. "We might as well start here and work our way around the square. Sooner or later, if my 'instinct' is right, we'll find something. Either Hawkeye, or some trace of her."

The iconography on the sign over the door identified it as a former bakery. The single plank nailed across the door did not prevent their entry long; the dried, desiccated wood was no match for Scar's right hand.

The interior proved dusty, but otherwise undisturbed. No footprints of recent passage, not even by mice or insects. Chairs were set neatly upside down on tables, the counter tidy and free of any clutter or the smallest of crumbs. A glass-domed cake plate sat empty, harbouring nothing but stale air.

Roy paused in the doorway before entering to search more thoroughly, taking a quick count of the other ground-level doors around the perimeter of the square: twenty-two. Blowing out a breath, he ducked inside the stagnant warmth of the bakery. If they wanted to make any kind of progress before sundown — and its now inherent, potential danger — they would have to work quickly.

#fma #fmab #Roy Mustang #Riza Hawkeye #royza #royai #fma fanfiction #royai fanfiction #tainted blood

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Lore Episode 21: Adrift (Transcript) - 16th November 2015

tw: death, drowning, ghosts Disclaimer: This transcript is entirely non-profit and fan-made. All credit for this content goes to Aaron Mahnke, creator of Lore podcast. It is by a fan, for fans, and meant to make the content of the podcast more accessible to all. Also, there may be mistakes, despite rigorous re-reading on my part. Feel free to point them out, but please be nice!

I have a confession to make. Keep in mind, I write about frightening things for a living. I haven’t read a horror novel yet that’s managed to freak me out, and yet, I’m deathly afraid of open water. There, I said it – I hate being on boats. I’m not even sure why, to be honest, I just… am. Perhaps it’s the idea that thousands of feet of cold darkness wait right beneath my feet. Maybe it’s the mystery of it all, of what creatures (both known and unknown) might be waiting for me, just beyond the reach of what little sunlight passes through the surface of the waves. Now, I live near the coast, and I’ve been on boats before, so my fear comes from experience, but it’s not the cold, deep darkness beneath the ship that worries me the most. No, what really makes my skin crawl is the thought that, at any moment, the ship could sink. Maybe we can blame movies like Titanic or The Poseidon Adventure for showing us how horrific a shipwreck can be, but there are far more true stories of tragedy at sea than there are fictional ones, and it’s in these real life experiences, these maritime disasters that dot the map of history like an ocean full of macabre buoys, that we come face to face with the real dangers that await us in open water. The ocean takes much from us, but in rare moments, scattered across the pages of history, we’ve heard darker stories: stories of ships that come back, of sailors returned from the dead, and of loved ones who never stop searching the land. Sometimes our greatest fears refuse to stay beneath the waves. I’m Aaron Mahnke, and this is Lore.

Shipwrecks aren’t a modern notion – as far back as we can go, there are records of ships lost at sea. In The Odyssey by Homer, one of the oldest and most widely read stories ever told, we meet Odysseus shortly before he experiences a shipwreck at the hands of Poseidon, God of the Sea. Even further back in time, we have the Egyptian tale of the shipwrecked sailor, dating to at least the 18th century BC. The truth is, though, for as long as humans have been building sea-faring vessels and setting sail into unknown waters, there have been shipwrecks. It’s a universal motif in the literatures of the world, and that’s most likely because of the raw, basic risk that a shipwreck poses to the sailors on the ships, but it’s not just the personal risk. Shipwrecks have been a threat to culture itself for thousands of years. The loss of a sailing vessel could mean the end to an expedition to discover new territory or turn the tide of a naval battle. Imagine the result if Admiral Nelson had failed in his mission off the coast of Spain in 1805, or how differently Russia’s history might have played out had Tsar Nicholas II’s fleet actually defeated the Japanese in the Battle of Tsushima. The advancement of cultures has hinged for thousands of years, in part, on whether or not their ships could return to port safely, but in those instances where ancient cultures have faded into the background of history, it is often through their shipwrecks that we get information about who they were. Just last year, an ancient Phoenician shipwreck was discovered in the Mediterranean Sea near the island of Malta. It’s thought to be at least 2700 years old and contains some of the oldest Phoenician artefacts ever uncovered. For archaeologists and historians who study these ancient people, the shipwreck has offered new information and ideas. The ocean takes much from us, and upon occasion, it also gives back. Sometimes, though, what it gives us is something less inspiring. Sometimes, it literally gives us back our dead.

One such example comes from 1775. The legend speaks of a whaling vessel, discovered off the western coast of Greenland in October of that year. Now, this is a story with tricky provenance, so the details will vary depending on where you read about it. The ship’s name might have been the Octavius, or possibly the Gloriana, and from what I can tell, the earliest telling of this tale can be traced back to a newspaper article in 1828. The story tells of how one Captain Warren discovered the whaler drifting through a narrow passage in the ice off the coast of Greenland. After hailing the vessel and receiving no reply, their own ship was brought near, and the crew boarded the mysterious vessel. Inside, though, they discovered a horrible sight. Throughout the ship, the entire crew was frozen to death where they sat. When they explored further and found the captain’s quarters, the scene inside was even more eerie. There in the cabin were more bodies: a frozen woman, holding a dead infant in her arms; a sailor holding a tinder box, as if trying to manufacture some source of warmth; and there, at the desk, sat the ship’s captain. One account tells of how his face and eyes were covered in a green, wet mould. In one hand, the man held a fountain pen, and the ship’s log was open in front of him. Captain Warren leaned over and read the final entry, dated November 11th, 1762, 13 years prior to the ship’s discovery. “We have been enclosed in the ice 70 days”, it said. “The fire went out yesterday and our master has been trying ever since to kindle it again, but without success. His wife died this morning. There is no relief”. Captain Warren and his crew were so frightened by the encounter that they grabbed the ship’s log and retreated as fast as they could back to their own ship. The Octavius, if indeed that was the ship’s name, was never seen again.

The mid-1800s saw the rise of the steel industry in America. It was the beginning of an empire that would rule the economy for over a century, and like all empires, there were capitals: St. Louis, Baltimore, Buffalo, Philadelphia. All of these cities played host to some of the largest steel works in the country, and for those that were close to the ocean, this created the opportunity for the perfect partnership – the shipyard. Steel could be manufactured and delivered locally and then used to construct the ocean-going steamers that were the lifeblood of late-19th century life. The flood of immigration through Ellis Island, for example, wouldn’t have been possible without these steamers. My own family made that journey. One such steamer to roll out of Philadelphia in 1885 was the S. S. Valencia. She was 252ft long and weighed in at nearly 1600 tonnes. The Valencia was built before complex bulkheads and hull compartments, and she wasn’t the fastest ship on the water, but she was dependable. She spent the first decade and a half running passengers between New York City and Karakas, Venezuela. In 1897, while in the waters near Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, the Valencia was attacked by a Spanish cruiser. The next year, she was sold and moved to the west coast, where she served in the Spanish-American war as a troop ship between the US and the Philippines. After the war, the Valencia was sold to a company that used the ship to sail between California and Alaska, but in 1906, she filled in for another ship that was under repair, and her new route became San Francisco to Seattle. They gave the ship a check-up in January of that year, and everything checked out good. For a 24-year-old vessel, the Valencia was in perfect working order.

She set sail on the 20th of January 1906, leaving sunny California and heading north. The ship was crewed by nine officers, 56 crew members and played host to over 100 passengers. Somewhere near Cape Mendocino off the coast of northern California, though, the weather turned sour. Visibility dropped, and the winds kicked up. When you’re on a ship at night, even a slow one, losing the ability to see is a very bad thing. Typically, without visual navigation a captain might fall back on the celestial method, using the stars in the same way sailors did centuries ago, but even that option was off the table for Captain Oscar Johnson, and so he used the only tool he had left: dead reckoning. The name alone should hint at the efficacy of the method. Using last known navigational points as a reference, Captain Johnson essentially guessed at the Valencia’s current location. But guessing can be deadly, and so instead of pointing the ship at the Strait of Juan de Fuca, between Vancouver Island and Washington State, he unknowingly aimed it at the island itself. Blinded by the weather and faulty guesswork, the Valencia struck a reef just 50ft from the shore near Pachena Point on the south-west side of Vancouver Island. They say the sound of the metal ripping apart on the rocks sounded like the screams of dozens of people. It came without warning, and the crew did what they could to react by immediately reversing the engines, backing off the rocks. Damage control reported the hull had been torn wide open, water was pouring in at a rapid pace, and there was no hope of repairing the ship. It lacked the hull compartments that later ships would include for just such occasions, and the captain knew that all hope was lost, so he reversed the engines again and drove the ship back onto the rocks. He wasn’t trying to destroy the Valencia completely, but to ground her, hoping that would keep her from sinking as rapidly as she might at sea. That’s when all hell broke loose. Before Captain Johnson could organise an evacuation, six of the seven life boats were lowered over the side. Three of those flipped over on the way down, dumping out the people inside. Two more capsized after hitting the water, and the sixth boat simply vanished. In the end, only one boat made it safely away.

Frank Lehn was one of the few survivors of the shipwreck. He later described the scene in all its horrific detail: “Screams of women and children mingled in an awful chorus with the shrieking of the wind, the dash of rain, and the roar of the breakers. As the passengers rushed on deck they were carried away in bunches by the huge waves that seemed as high as the ship's mastheads. The ship began to break up almost at once and the women and children were lashed to the rigging above the reach of the sea. It was a pitiful sight to see frail women, wearing only night dresses, with bare feet on the freezing ratlines, trying to shield children in their arms from the icy wind and rain”. About that same time, the last life boat made it safely away under the control of the ship’s boatswain, Officer Timothy McCarthy. According to him, the last thing he saw after leaving the ship was, and I quote, “the brave faces looking at us over the broken rail of a wreck, and of the echo of a great hymn sung by the women through the fog and mist and flying spray”. The situation was desperate. Attempts were made by the ship’s remaining crew to fire a rescue line from the lyle gun into the trees at the top of the nearby cliff. If someone could simply reach the line and anchor it, the rest of the passengers would be saved. The first line they fired became tangled and snapped clean, but the second successfully reached the cliff above. A small group of men even managed to make it to shore. There were nine of them, led by a school teacher named Frank Bunker, but when they reached the top of the cliff, they discovered the path forked to the left and the right; Bunker picked the left. Had he instead turned right, the men would have come across the second lyle line within minutes and possibly saved all the remaining passengers. Instead, he led the men along a telegraph line path for over two hours before finally managing to get a message out to authorities about the accident, making a desperate plea for help - and help was sent, but even though the three separate ships that raced to the site of the wreck tried to offer assistance, the rough weather and choppy seas prevented them from getting close enough to do any good. Even still, the sight of the ships nearby gave a false sense of hope to those remaining on the wreckage, so when the few survivors onshore offered help, they declined. There were no more lifeboats, no more lifelines to throw, and no ships brave enough to get closer. The women and children stranded on the ship clung to the riggings and rails against the cold Pacific waters, but when a large wave washed the wounded ship off the rocks and into deep water, everyone was lost. All told, 137 of the 165 lives aboard the ship were lost that cold, early January morning. If that area of the coastline had yet to earn its modern nickname of “the graveyard of the Pacific”, this was the moment that cemented it.

The wreck of the Valencia was clearly the result of a series of unfortunate accidents, but officials still went looking for someone to blame. In the aftermath of the tragedy, the Canadian government took steps to ensure lifesaving measures along the coast that could help with future shipwrecks. A lighthouse was constructed near Pachena Point and a coastal trail was laid out that would eventually become known as the West Coast Trail, but the story of Valencia was far from over. Keep in mind there have been scores of shipwrecks, tragedies that span centuries, in that very same region of water, and like most areas with a concentrated number of tragic deaths, unusual activity has been reported by those who visit. Just five months after the Valencia sank, a local fisherman reported an amazing discovery. While exploring seaside caves on the south-western coast of Vancouver Island, he described how he stumbled upon one of the lifeboats within the cave. In the boat, he claimed, were eight human skeletons. The cave was said to be blocked by a large rock, and the interior was at least 200ft deep. Experts found it hard to explain how the boat could have made it from the water outside into the space within, but theories speculated that an unusually high tide could possibly have lifted the boat up and over. A search party was sent out to investigate the rumour, but it was found that the boat was unrecoverable, due to the depth of the cave and the rocks blocking the entrance. In 1910, the Seattle Times ran a story with reports of unusual sightings in the area of the wreck. According to a number of sailors, a ship resembling the Valencia had been witnessed off the coast. The mystery ship could have been any local steamer, except for one small detail: the ship was already floundering on the rocks, half submerged. Clinging to the wreckage, they say, were human figures, holding on against the wind and the waves.

Humans have had a love affair with the ocean for thousands of years. Across those dark and mysterious waters lay all manner of possibility: new lands, new riches, new cultures to meet and trade with. Setting sail has always been something akin to the start of an adventure, whether that destination was the northern passage or just up the coast, but an adventure at sea always comes with great risk; we understand this in our core. It makes us cautious, it turns our stomachs, it fills us with equal parts dread and hope, because there on the waves of the ocean, everything can go according to plan, or it can all fail tragically. Maybe this is why the ocean is so often used as a metaphor for the fleeting, temporary nature of life. Time, like waves, eventually wear us all down. Our lives can be washed away in an instant, no matter how strong or high we build them. Time takes much from us, just like the ocean. Waters off the coast of Vancouver Island are a perfect example of that cruelty and risk. They can be harsh, even brutal, toward vessels that pass through them. The cold winters and sharp rocks leave ships with little chance of survival, and with over 70 shipwrecks to date, the graveyard of the Pacific certainly lives up to its reputation. For years after the tragedy of 1906, fishermen and locals on the island told stories of a ghostly ship that patrolled the waters just off the coast. It’s said it was crewed by skeletons of the Valencia sailors who lost their lives there. It would float into view and then disappear, like a spirit, before anyone could reach it. In 1933, in the waters just north of the 27-year-old wreck of the Valencia, a shape floated out of the fog. When a local approached it, the shape became recognisable; it was a lifeboat. It looked as if it had just been launched moments before and yet there, on the side of the boat, were pale letters that spelled out a single word: Valencia.

[Closing statements]

#lore podcast #podcasts #aaron mahnke #shipwrecks #the odyssey #the octavius #s. s. valencia #at sea #greenland #canada #phildelphia #hauntings #transcripts #21

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